


the edge of the world

by BabadookBabe



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: And yet, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Everyone is Bisexual, F/F, F/M, I’m putting every trope ever in here watch out, M/M, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Period Typical Bigotry, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Revenge, Slow Burn, THE UNDERAGE TAG IS NOT ANY OF THE CHARACTER'S RELATIONSHIPS, Torture, Vampirism, Yennefer is a stoner btw, combination skyrim and the witcher, everything he does is an ode to bisexual culture, he didn't ask for this, he just wants to be a bard, here we are, i mean remember the scene where she teaches the students to get high, jaskier is the most bisexual disaster that you will ever see, jaskier the reluctant dragonborn, renfri is alive because I said so, the underage warning is for a past event, this work is gay, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 09:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23349172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabadookBabe/pseuds/BabadookBabe
Summary: Jaskier just wanted to be a famous bard. Geralt just wanted some peace and quiet and for the world to remain simple. Yennefer just wanted some power. Renfri is a badass. Jaskier is the reluctant Dragonborn, and chaos ensues.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Renfri| Shrike, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Renfri | Shrike/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 21
Kudos: 60





	1. and so it begins

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! This is my first venture into Witcher or skyrim/elder scrolls fanfic! I have never played Skyrim, and I havent finished The Witcher books, but damn have I done my research. Enjoy, and let me know in the comments what you think! Just three words, that's all I ask. How's my writing? This work is beta'd by ao3 user @mistedglass :)
> 
> *Song credits:  
> -First song is Sera from Dragon Age Inquisition  
> -second song is Lullaby of Woe originally from one of The Witcher video games
> 
> Spot the Easter Egg from another fandom!

_"Sera was never quite an agreeable_ _girl;_

_Her tongue tells tales of rebellion._

_But she was so fast,_

_And quick with her bow,_

_No one quite knew where she came from._

_Sera was never quite the quietest_ _girl;_

_Her attacks are loud and they’re joyful._

_But she knew the ways of nobler men,_

_And she knew how to enrage them._

_She would always like to say,_

_“Why change the past,_

_when you can own this day?”_

_Today she will fight,_

_To keep her way._

_She’s a rogue and a thief,_

_And she’ll tempt your fate...”_

Jaskier strummed and sang, the tune lively and popular though it wasn’t his original work. He had picked it up from a traveling bard named Yardrel, who hailed from a faraway continent called Thedas. He had never heard of the place, but it sounded exciting. Jaskier had traveled the Old Kingdom far and wide, but his fanciful heart yearned for far off and unknown lands. 

Maybe someday he would leave Skyrim and be off to another one of the provinces of Tamriel. The thought always filled him with adventure and a sense of tantalizing oblivion. 

He finished the ballad with a rakish wink, bowing and thanking the crowd for the generous tribute left in his hat. Jaskier had gotten lucky with this tavern, located in the wealthier part of Whiterun, where the drink flowed freely, and the patrons were more than generous with their coin. 

Jaskier went to retrieve his hat, relieved that he would have enough coin for a room and a meal at the inn. If he had to sleep in the outdoors in the weather that had been plaguing the land for the last month, he’d go stark raving mad. 

Jaskier was no priss but he had been raised a noble and hadn’t lost his taste for featherbeds. Now that he’d experienced all that came with it, sleeping under the stars wasn’t as romantic as it had sounded when Jaskier was still a starry-eyed graduate straight out of the The Bard’s College in Solitude. 

Ah, how young he had been (it had only been two years since his graduation from the Bard’s College, and yet it felt like an age). 

Safely storing his coin, he made his way over to the bar where a pretty barmaid was pouring ale and other spirits. Perching on a bar stool he grinned at her, sliding over some coin and asking for wine. She smiled at him, fluttering her eyelashes over her freckles as she went to retrieve it, and Jaskier wondered if he’d be lucky enough to grace her bed tonight. 

Or not, as he spotted who was probably her father, glaring at him fiercely from across the room. Turning his eyes downward to his wine he took a sip, mourning the perceived loss. 

Time seemed to flow by, and evening made way to night, and the tavern was only a little less full than it had been during Jaskier’s performance. Jaskier had made it through three slowly sipped glasses of wine, and he was about to turn in when he heard the strumming of a lute and the start of a song. 

_“Wolves asleep amidst the trees_   
_Bats all a swaying in the breeze_   
_But one soul lies anxious wide awake_   
_Fearing no manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths_

The bard singing wore a subdued silver doublet and was fair of hair, his voice melodious and haunting. Jaskier was immediately enchanted, not only by his voice but the bard as well. 

_For your dolly Polly sleep has flown_   
_Don't dare let her tremble alone_   
_For the_ _W_ _itcher_ _, heartless, cold_   
_Paid in coin of gold_   
_He comes he'll go leave naught behind_   
_But heartache and woe_   
_Deep, deep woe_   


Jaskier’s interest was piqued, he had never heard this ballad, nor had he ever heard of a “Witcher” before. Curiosity lit a fire within his breast, and the academic in him hungered for more. 

_Birds are silent for the night_   
_Cows turned in as daylight dies_   
_But one soul lies anxious wide awake_   
_Fearing no manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths_   


_My dear dolly Polly shut your eyes_   
_Lie still, lie silent, utter no cries_   
_As the_ _W_ _itcher_ _, brave and bold_   
_Paid in coin of gold_   
_He'll chop and slice you_   
_Cut and dice you_   
_Eat you up whole_   
_Eat you whole...”_

The silver bard’s voice faded into the rapt silence brought by his words. Some patrons had left during the performance, muttering disdainfully. Jaskier wondered at this, tossing a coin into the other bard’s collection hat, as very few others did the same. 

The strange bard did not look dissuaded. He sprang into a less morbid tune next, the popular “Fishmonger’s Daughter”, which was always a crowd pleaser. He continued for a few more songs until there wasn’t enough of a crowd to entertain anymore, then made his way over to the bar near to Jaskier. 

Jaskier, seizing his chance, scooted closer to the bard. “Drinks on me, what do you fancy?” he asked, sending a winning grin at the stranger. Upon closer inspection he noticed the man’s slender features, the elegant cut of his cheekbones and dark eyes. 

_What an enchanting creature..._

Jaskier was half in love already. 

The stranger smiled at him, taking a seat and placing his arms on the bar. “Hm, how about some wine? Singing always makes me quite thirsty.” He held Jaskier’s eyes as he spoke, and Jaskier did not miss the underlying intent to his words, a thrilled shiver going down his spine. 

Lowering his eyelashes in the way he knew the ladies (and the lads) liked, he nodded. “Two glasses of your finest port good lady.” The barmaid acquiesced, going to fetch said port. She was pretty, but Jaskier had his eyes on another prize tonight. 

Jaskier turned back to the other bard, mirroring his relaxed posture. “What’s your name, stranger? I haven’t seen you around before.” 

The fae-like bard smiled, flicking his fair hair out of his gorgeous eyes. “Fen, the name is Fen. This is my first time in Whiterun in a while. And pray, what is your name?” 

Jaskier tilted his head, delighted by this Fen. “Jaskier, travelling troubadour and soon to be famous bard!” He flourished his hands playfully, winking. The port arrived then, and Jaskier did not miss Fen’s eyes on his mouth as he took a sip, licking a stray drop from his lips. 

Fen laughed, eyes sparkling as he took a sip of his own drink. “Oh, I’m sure, you have a delightful voice my friend. Pray, where did you study if anywhere?” 

The port was strong, and Jaskier could already feel a pleasant buzz taking over him. “The Bard’s College in Solitude! I could talk your ear of with the hilarity of a city, especially a city with a bard’s College, being called Solitude but then we’d be here all night...how about you, Fen? Where did you study?” 

Fen smiled, and it was a pretty, secret thing. “I was home and self-taught actually, my family made sure to give me a very thorough musical education.” 

_Ah, so a fellow noble_... “I see! Alas, my parents did not approve of my musical inclinations, and it was out the door for me to follow the profession. The education must have been indeed thorough, you are quite talented!” 

Jaskier couldn’t wait to see what other ways this pretty bard was talented, but before he could attempt to get this man into bed, the curiosity that burned in his chest needed sating. 

“Say, what was the first ballad you sang? I’ve never heard it before in all my travels, nor have I heard of a “Witcher”. Pray tell, what is a W _itcher_ _?”_

Taking a long pull of his port, Fen tilted his head. “Ah, I see that the tales of Witchers have not spread to every ear in the land. Witchers, my friend, are slayers of monsters. It is said, *there is nothing more repulsive than these monsters that defy nature and are known by the name of Witcher, as they are the offspring of foul sorcery and witchcraft. They are unscrupulous scoundrels without conscience and virtue, veritable creatures from hell capable only of taking lives...” Fen trailed off, his gaze troubled. 

“I have seen one once, from a distance in my travels. He was truly forbidding, and I am grateful that we did not cross paths. It is also said...that Witchers steal children in the night and devour them whole.” The delicate bard shuddered, finishing off his port. 

Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh at the last bit, not disturbed in the least. “Eaters of children, are they? I wonder who came up with _that_ fanciful tale. Now I don’t know about the rest, as this is the first I’ve ever heard of them, but I highly doubt they kidnap children in the night and eat them. How preposterous.” 

Fen scowled a bit at that. “Don’t be so quick to discount the tales, there is always at least a grain of truth in a story.” 

Jaskier playfully threw up his hands at this, conceding. “Yes, yes, alright. Maybe you’re right, maybe these Witchers do steal babes in the night, gobbling them up.” He giggled, earning a playful slap on the shoulder from Fen. 

‘What did this Witcher look like anyhow? Long teeth, claws? Anything interesting?” 

Fen rolled his pretty eyes. “He was tall, a big hulking creature of a man. He had long white hair, and from the distance even I could see his eyes were a burning yellow. Almost like a wolf’s, I would say. I suppose he could’ve been very handsome, if he hadn’t looked so...inhuman.” 

Jaskier wondered at this, his curiosity not quite settled, but he let it drop for now. He was more interested in hurrying Fen into bed anyhow, 

Their banter continued into the night for some time more, the topics of conversation moving away from Witchers and on to lighter things. Although they didn’t touch, being in too public of a place, their glances were heavy and heated. Finally, Jaskier placed some coins down on the table, bidding Fen a good night with a lingering glance. The unspoken request for Fen to follow hung in the air, and as Jaskier made his way up the inn’s stairs to his room, he knew the bard would follow soon enough. 

And when he did, door shutting quietly behind him, there was nothing to stop them tearing at each other’s doublets, mouth’s hungry and hands eager. 

Afterwards, when they were both sated and Fen’s even breaths brushed against Jaskier’s chest, he lay awake a moment longer. His mind was hazy, but before he fell asleep, he wondered errantly about the topic of Witcher’s. 

He wondered if he would ever meet one someday, and with that thought he drifted off, dreaming of a white wolf with golden eyes. 


	2. one light, caught like fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's ya girl, Yennefer (I switch perspectives chapter by chapter, but it will be from Jaskier's POV more often than not)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you spot the Easter Egg from another fandom (there will be many in my works)
> 
> Also I will be updating this fic every Friday, and have chapters written in advance!

Yennefer was...cross. 

No, Yennefer was _furious._

The Brotherhood was causing trouble and getting in her way, again. Of course, they were. Thank the gods she had gone rogue a while back, leaving the Supreme Council of Sorcerers; she often wondered how she had tolerated them in the first place. 

Taking a long drag from her ivory pipe, Yennefer breathed in the heady smoke of her pipe weed. Her supply was a custom blend of Old Toby, sourced from a land far to the West, with dried roses, lavender, and a touch of her own magic mixed in to heighten its effects. She breathed out the smoke, eyeing the berry lip stain left on the mouth of the pipe. Calm spread through her, and the colors of the room danced. 

It was a warm summer evening in Whiterun, and Yennefer had the manor all to herself. Well, herself and the enchanted owner of the place, who was in a pleasant magical sleep thanks to yours truly. 

She stared into her mirror, a mirror she’d magicked into showing her what she wanted to see. At this moment she was using it to watch a meeting of the Brotherhood, having found a crack in their security enchantments years ago. She smirked, taking another drag of her pipe. 

What a bunch of tottering fools. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of Tissaia, stiff backed and as serious as ever. Usually, the content of these meetings was routine and thoroughly boring, but today it was evident that something more serious was going on. 

Many of the mages seemed to be locked in heated argument and frantic mutterings, and it wasn’t until order was called for several times before the din settled into a tense quiet. Yennefer mused on how fractured the order had become and wondered at the inevitability of its collapse. 

That would be a sight to see. 

Shaking her head, she focused back in on the scene playing out before her. Tissaia had been the one to call them to order, and it seemed as if the serious witch had garnered more power in the past years. Yennefer cocked an eyebrow, more impressed than surprised. 

Tissaia placed her palms heavily on the council table, meeting eyes with what seemed like every mage there. Her voice rang true and clear in the silence of the chamber. “Now, esteemed sorcerers, I am sure you are aware of the matters that have called us here today. It is of upmost importance that we remedy these matters swiftly and surely. The very fate of Skyrim, and even Tamriel as a whole, may depend on it.” 

The silence that met her words was palpable, the air heavy with severity. Yennefer immediately leaned forward, no longer merely mildly curious but very much invested in the coming information. 

“Unnatural blights on the land, diseases with seemingly no source, erratic weather with no basis-there are even rumors of dragons returning, despite their dying out a long time ago.” Tissaia raised a swift hand for silence as disbelieving murmurs erupted from the council, but they quickly died down. 

“Now, I know how that sounds of course- but reports are getting more frequent, and not just coming from superstitious commoners. There have been mages sent to confirm these rumors, discreetly, but not all have returned- some have sent no word to us at all since their departure.” She took a deep breath, and if Yennefer didn’t know any better, she could have sworn there was slight tremble to her hands. 

“Events have come to pass that foretell the coming of Alduin himself, The World-Eater-” 

She was cut off by a male mage standing up defiantly, as murmurs of dissent erupted around the chamber, “Preposterous! There is no precedent-” 

“-And yet all that was foretold in The Prophecy of the Dragonborn, from an Elder Scroll itself, has come to pass!” Tissaia cut him off, eyes as cold as ever, tone biting. “Would anyone deny this? Would anyone here deny the strange events of today, and the timing of them? This is nothing to scoff at, my fellow mages, this cannot be ignored.” 

Stone cold silence met her words, the defiant mage who had spoken sitting down, properly chastised. Yennefer’s mind honed in on mention of the World-Eater. All knew of Alduin, wellspring of the Nordic Pantheon, harbinger of the apocalypse, known in some texts as the creator of dragon civilization. 

“Now is the time to act, now is the time to go and find the foretold Dra-” but Tissaia’s words were cut off by the mirror going misty and then blank, to Yennefer’s frustration and confusion. She glared at it, focusing her magic to summon it back, but nothing happened. She scoffed, turning away, surmising that unknown to her the security had changed and therefore dissolved her connection. 

_What highly_ _incon_ v _enient timing..._

Relighting and taking a long drag from her pipe, Yennefer sought to sooth her whirring thoughts with a sip of elderberry wine from a conjured goblet. 

What had Tissaia been about to say? Had she meant they should go after the rumored Alduin himself? Surely not, the only possible thing she’d meant to say was- 

Yennefer sucked in a deep breath, the realization hitting her all at once like a wave. 

_Dragonborn._

The cogs in Yennefer’s head began to turn and she paced, biting down on her plump lower lip. If what Tissaia said to be true, the prophecy foretold the coming of a Dovahkinn, a last Dragonborn come to defeat Alduin. Well, last Dragonborn besides Emperor Titus Mede II, if the debated rumors about the descendants of Tiber Septim were to be entertained. 

For the first time in a while, Yennefer was _excited._ Intrigued. Maybe that wasn’t an appropriate response to the possible ending of the world, but to the appearance of a Dragonborn... A human who, as they say, is born “with the blood and soul of a dragon, who can learn to speak the ancient and powerful language of the Dov.” 

The amount of power stored in a being like this was immeasurable, an untapped resource. 

Yennefer grinned, the wheels of her mind turning faster and faster, an idea forming in her mind. 

_Exciting, indeed..._


	3. 'twas not by bone, nor yet by blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> missed gay connections part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credit:  
> -Magistrate from Dragon Age  
> -Dear Fellow Traveler by Sea Wolf

Geralt was well and thoroughly soaked in frost spider guts, and it was decidedly _not his day._ If he had to hunt down any more of these gods-damned creatures or their eggs, all while blundering through their thick webs, he was going to lose it. 

Sighing deeply, he wiped viscera from his eyes and bent down to the cut the head of the spider from its corpse as proof of the kill. The townspeople of Riverwood, a town located on the banks of the White River, had offered a sizeable amount of coin for the culling of the spider and its offspring. It had been stealing and eating their cattle and had taken a child. All that Geralt found of the child was his bones stripped clean of flesh, and a brief but deep ache settled in his heart at the sight. 

It never felt like much of a victory when a child was dead. Anyone who claimed Witcher’s felt nothing (which was basically everyone) had clearly never gotten to know one. 

He gathered the bones in an extra sack, treating them with utmost care. Even if there was no coin to be had for this, any parents deserved the return of the remains of their child and news of their fate. 

As he made his way back to where he had safely left Roach, he stuffed the spider head in another sack. He wrinkled his nose at the foul black blood that began to soak through the fabric. 

Said mare nickered at the sight of him and didn’t even bat a dark eye at the stench of the spider’s head emanating from the sack held in Geralt’s hand. After all, she was used to his smell after weeks on the road, which can’t have been much worse than the decapitated head of a frost spider. 

As he attached the two sacks to his saddle, he mused on the appearance of a frost spider so close to Whiterun. It was warmer this time of year, and its appearance was abnormal at best. Geralt filed the thought away for later and mounted, turning and urging Roach in the direction of Riverwood. As much as he’d put it off, he had a room at the local inn waiting for him and hopefully soon a hot bath. Even he could admit he’d gone on far too long without one. 

As he approached the village, it began to rain- and rain hard. Geralt scowled, urging Roach into a quicker pace, the shabby gates of the town opening to him without question. All knew of the Witcher who had come to town and picked up a contract. 

He slowed down by the stables, dismounting and leading Roach into the shelter of them. He brought her to a stall and set about unsaddling her. As he brushed her down (a task he liked to do himself), he passed a coin to the young stable hand to assure she was well looked after for the night. The boy looked at him with wide eyes that both held a healthy amount of fear, but also a bit of awe as he took the coin. 

First things first, Geralt retrieved the sacks containing the spider’s head, bringing it to the alderman who would verify his success and give him payment. The transaction was easy enough, and he walked away with a hefty purse of coin for his troubles. Next he was off to the parents of the child. Before he set off, he used a spare rag from his pack to wipe the worst of the spider guts from his face and hands. 

When he arrived at the small hut, he spotted an anxious face in the window; in the next moment both a man and woman appeared in the open doorway, their faces drawn and exhausted. The hope that had been in their eyes was crushed before Geralt could say a word, as the wife laid her eyes on the bag in his hand, which he held out gingerly to them. 

“I...am sorry. The spider and all her offspring are dead.” He didn’t know what else to say. What else could be said? Geralt never had and never would have children, so he had never had the experience of losing one, especially in such a brutal way. 

The wife keened as she collapsed against her husband, burying her face in his shoulder as her body was wracked with sobs. The husband stepped forward while gently holding her and retrieved the sack from Geralt’s outstretched hand. He didn’t say a word, but he looked Geralt in the eye and nodded his thanks. Geralt nodded back. With that he left, heading back towards the inn. 

Upon entering he ignored the familiar feel of all eyes on him, filled with varying amounts of suspicion and disdain. A few whispers made their way to his well-trained ears, and he didn’t even grit his teeth anymore at being called “The Butcher of Blaviken” anymore. Without acknowledging them he headed up to his claimed room. To his surprise a steaming bath had already been set up and poured for him in his room. He blinked, wondering if this was part of the hospitality of the town. Shrugging, he set down his swords and pack, making to remove his filthy armor and clothes. He would send them to be cleaned, never mind the extra coin it would cost him. He could clean his armor himself, and his clothes if he so wished, but he was bone-tired and was willing to use the coin for this purpose. 

Stepping into the bath, he sank down and let out a loud sigh. He felt the tension bleed from his muscles. There was a small bar of soap, a small bottle of what he assumed to be for his hair, and a towel on the side of the bath. He grabbed the soap, making quick work of scrubbing the dirt and grime from his skin. Geralt’s hair was a unique challenge as always, for he’d have to untangle and meticulously clean the grime from his locks. 

Sighing, he dunked his head under, and then went for the small bottle of shampoo, lathering up his scalp and hair. After some work and strained patience, he’d untangled it and rinsed the suds out. Quietly, in the back of his mind, he wished for someone to do this for him, to clean his hair and rub the soreness from his muscles at times like this. 

Geralt banished the thought, knowing it was something he could never have. As the water cooled, he stood up and stepped out, toweling himself off. He grabbed spare clothes from his bag (both black of course) and sent them away to be cleaned. The transaction was quick, and the serving girl who retrieved his clothes blushed prettily as she took them and headed off. He made his way back upstairs and went to work on cleaning his armor, and when finished; he collapsed on to the rickety but soft bed. Closing his eyes he steadied his breathing and cleared his mind, and quickly slipped away into sleep. 

\------- 

The next morning had Geralt instinctually waking bright and early. He blinked, bleary eyed, and sat up. In the corner on a small table he saw his now washed clothes where he expected them to be, the serving girl having delivered them quietly in the night. With Geralt’s heightened senses he had heard her but remained relaxed as there was not much threat a serving girl could pose for him. He sat up and stretched, typing his hair up in a quick knot, and began to don his armor. While he wasn’t in a hurry, he was eager to make it to the next town, city, or settlement and find another contract to occupy his time. 

Whiterun was about three days ride from Riverwood, and if he happened upon any contracts along the way, he could take them. He would be able to restock on supplies in Whiterun, especially on ingredients for his potions. Making his way to the door, he heard the muffled sound of music downstairs. 

_Music? This early? I bet half of the patronage isn’t awake yet..._

As he opened the door and could hear it more clearly, he wouldn’t call the voice or tune unpleasant, but it really was too early. 

_“...Dragons in the sky, the fighting has begun_   
_Shadow versus light, and who will stand when it is done?_   
_Magisters and fright, his destiny it calls_   
_Inquisitor your hand will reprimand before he falls!_

_Now are the days of wine and gilded arms_   
_Now are the days when magic is reborn_   
_Seal up the breach, the evil is no more_   
_Once and for all, we close the darkened door_

_Peril in their eyes, the battle has begun_   
_Death becomes the ashes of the evils yet to come_   
_Inquisitor's delight, a destiny it shines_   
_Magister your ancient hand is broken in the light_

_Now are the days of wine and gilded arms_   
_Now are the days when magic is reborn_   
_Seal up the breach, the evil is no more_   
_Once and for all, victory is ours_

_Darkness never ever rise again_   
_Darkness never ever rise again_

_Dragons in the sky, the fighting has begun_   
_Shadow versus light, and who will stand when it is done?_   
_Magisters and fright, his destiny it calls_   
_Inquisitor your hand will reprimand before he falls!_

_Now are the days of wine and gilded arms_   
_Now are the days when magic is reborn_   
_Seal up the breach, the evil is no more_   
_Once and for all, we close the darkened door_

_Darkness never ever rise again_   
_Darkness never ever rise again_

_Peril in their eyes, the battle has begun_   
_Death becomes the ashes of the evils yet to come_   
_Inquisitor's delight, a destiny it shines_   
_Magister your ancient hand is broken in the light_

_Now are the days of wine and gilded arms_   
_Now are the days when magic is reborn_   
_Seal up the breach, the evil is no more_   
_Once and for all, victory is ours...”_

The voice trailed off as Geralt headed for the stairs, and to his surprise he heard claps and cheers. As he made his way down into the tavern part of the inn, he was further surprised by the amount of patronage he saw there. It was early, but the crowd was merry as ever. 

“To Jaskier, the travelling troubadour! Soon to be famous across the nine provinces, I’ll say! Where did you learn that ballad? Ne’er heard it before...”, a drunk patron exclaimed, tossing a coin into the hat at the bard’s feet across the room. Geralt barely took notice of the bard, sticking to the back of the tavern as he made his way to the bar, always sticking to the shadows. It was better to go unnoticed. 

He heard the bard respond, his voice bright and far too cheerful for the morning. “Thank you, good sir! I learned it from a passing bard a while back a bard hailing from a faraway land called Theas. Now let me regale you with the tale of The Fishmonger’s Daughter...” Claps sounded at the announcement of this popular tune, but Geralt had already stopped listening. Depositing coin for the bath the inn had provided last night, he made his way out the door and beyond the reach of the Bard’s voice. 

(All Jaskier saw was the flash of white hair out the door, and he wondered at it briefly, before shaking his head and thinking he imagined it.) 

Outside, Geralt trekked to the stables to find a well-fed Roach munching on oats as the stable boy from the previous night gently stroked her nose. Roach hardly let strangers touch her, so it was a sight to see. The boy jumped as he noticed Geralt’s presence, jumping back from the horse as if he’d been burned. In response Geralt tossed him another coin for his fine treatment of Roach, which the boy fumbled to catch. Leading her out he mounted her and made his way in the direction of Whiterun. 

\---- 

Jaskier had decided to make his way out of Whiterun, looking for inspiration for more ballads along the way. The weather really was quite lovely, and Jaskier did not mind the three-day journey to Riverwood, a town close by. He saw a burned -out campfire just outside the path to the trees on his right and wondered briefly of the traveler who had made and left it. 

He unslung his lute from his back, starting to play with a tune, strumming. 

_*”...Dear fellow traveler_

_Under the moon I saw you standing in the shadows and your_ _eyes_ _won’t move_

_You put your hand out_

_Opened the door_

_You said come with me boy, I want to show you_

_Something more_ _._ _..”_

He trailed off, delighted at the lyrics that had come to him so quickly. He continued to strum, figuring out the melody and playing with words. It was a lovely day, and inspiration seemed to flow freely as the hours passed. 

As evening arrived, he found a clearing that dipped into the ground in the woods off a ways to his right, and he decided to make camp. Making and lighting a small fire he took out a bit of dried meat, cheese, and bread he’d stored away for the journey. After he finished, he stayed up a while yet, playing around with the song he’d come up with earlier. 

_“...you spoke my language_

_and touched my limbs_

_it wasn’t difficult_

_to pull me from myself again_

_And in our travels_

_we found our roads...”_

Jaskier laid down his lute, putting out the campfire, rolling out his bedroll and settling in to sleep. He placed his butterfly knife by his bedroll to be grabbed at a moment’s notice just in case. The sound of wind in the trees lulled him to sleep, and he could not remember his dreams come morning. 


	4. cause it gets my  blood boiling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renfri suffers (sorry)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW warning  
> graphic description of torture, mention of past sexul assault, body horror, blood, let me know if more tags are needed

In the months following Blaviken, Renfri  _ suffered. _

She thought she had known pain when she was taken out in the woods as a young teen by the man hired by her step-mother, beaten and raped until she jammed her broach into the man’s ear and though the bastard’s brain. She thought she had known pain when she was on the run, hungry and cold and scared. She thought she had known pain when she’d had to sell herself for food and shelter, when stealing and swindling didn’t work.

She thought she had known pain when the poison of a poisoned apple meant to kill her burned through her veins, and yet she survived. She thought she had known pain when she felt her body cursed and made into a slab of mountain crystal, Stregobor bringing the mine and tunnels down upon her (she’d felt every stone as if she were still flesh, and crystals cannot scream but oh they can try).

She thought she’d known pain while naked on the executioner’s bench in an eastern kingdom, before she’d killed the eldest prince’s parents and siblings, making him king and her his mistress. But revenge burned hot in her breast, and she’d soon left to hunt down Stregobor.

She thought she’d known pain when Geralt had slashed at an artery in her upper thigh, and further still when he drove her own dagger into her throat, bleeding out fast and that was when she knew she was dying. After everything she’d been through and survived, and it was a Witcher who killed her. She would have laughed, if not for the blood filling her pierced throat.

But no, until now, Renfri had not known what pain was. Nothing even close to it.

Somehow, Stregobor had brought her back from the brink of death, and she’d woken in a small dank cell, shivering and cold. Stregobor had been there, standing outside her cell, his eyes beady and dark. He was staring right at her, and if not for the pain in her thigh and throat she would’ve thrown herself at him and tried to claw the bastard’s eyes out through the bars.

“Oh Renfri, when Geralt slew you, I thought my chance to study a live mutant specimen was gone-but maybe subconsciously, Geralt wasn’t thorough enough in his butchering.” He chuckled, and Renfri wondered at what the joke was. His voice was slick and oily, and Renfri saw red at the sound of it.

“ So is that it then? You’re going to open me up and study my  _ mutations,  _ wizard? Tell me, can you not get it up without opening up innocent women and girls?”

Stregobor only tilted his head, smiling as he studied her. “Oh Renfri, I spent so long running-what a sight it is to see you at my mercy. I hope you will be mollified by the fact that the research I will do on you will be highly valuable to the Brotherhood.”

Renfri spat as far as she could in his direction, and this time she did try to get up. But for some reason she was stuck, and her limbs wouldn’t listen to her. She struggled against the weight, panicking at the invisible weight that kept her down.

“Tsk  tsk Renfri, it’s pointless to struggle. The collar around your neck suppresses your physical strength and speed, and after all the blood you lost it’s a wonder, you’re conscious at all.”

At his words Renfri felt her eyes grow heavy, her head growing woozy. She struggled against it, not wanting to be unconscious for another second in  Stregobor’s presence.  Stregobor’s form swam before her, his voice growing farther and farther away.

“We are going to have such fun together, you and I...” And with that Renfri was gone to the world.

\--------

When she awoke, her head was still muddled and her eyelids heavy, but she squinted at the bright light above her. As her vision cleared, she saw that she was under some sort of crystal emitting light in a bare room. With a sickening drop in her gut she realized she was naked and bound by her wrists and ankles to some sort of table. Her collar also seemed to be attached to the table, and her panic increased until she was breathing heavily and fast.

As if on cue Stregobor entered the room, and Renfri stared at him, wide eyed and furious. She said nothing, only put all her hate and fury into her gaze. Stregobor only chuckled, and Renfri went cold. This was  it, this was to be her fate. The guinea pig for Stregobor and the Brotherhood’s gains, if this was something they knew of.

“Welcome back to the world, Renfri. I have so been looking forward to this,” he said as his eyes trailed up and down her naked form, and she wanted to vomit. His beady eyes were lit up with excitement at the prospect of opening her up, and she wondered idly what his head would look like impaled on one of her spears.

“Fuck you,” she said simply, and braced herself for what was to come, whatever it was. She was floating away, her mind going far, far away (as it had so many other times in her life). “Magic doesn’t work on me, remember? If you want to cut me  open you’ll have to do it with your bare hands.”

Stregobor stood over her now, and his grin only got wider, studying her more closely under the bright light. She tried not to tremble, she tried, but her body betrayed her. Renfri had sworn to herself that she would never be at the mercy of another man ever again, and yet here she was.

What followed was one of the worst periods of time in  Renfri’s life, even though later she would not remember half of it.

“ Actually my dear, this particular magic has a loophole around your mutations. See-” Stregobor lifted his finger, and in a sudden motion swooped it in a downwards motion, and Renfri  _ screamed  _ as the motion opened her from the top of her sternum to stomach, or maybe lower, Renfri could not tell through the blinding pain. 

She could not stop screaming.

Faintly through the pained haze that had settled over her eyes, she saw Stregobor smiling his sick little smile. “ Oh don’t worry, I’ll keep you alive. I can’t waste this ample opportunity! And oh Renfri, if you could only see what I see...”

With that she saw him draw closer and lower his hands, and Renfri did vomit then when she felt his hands in her insides. She was burning and breaking, and this was hell, she was in hell, she was being punished for all she’d done-

She passed out soon after, her mind and body unable to stay conscious through the first round of her ordeal. 

\----

When she finally woke again, it was dark, and she realized she was back in her cell. She was sore all over, her front burning. She wondered at how she was alive right now and looking down realized she had been sealed up. Whatever Stregobor had done, he’d healed her, leaving her with a nasty scar. She felt like a cadaver, and for a moment thought she might already be dead.

_ It would be easier if I was. _

But no, she couldn’t give up now. She  _ would  _ survive, she  _ would  _ make it out of here, she  _ would  _ dest ro y this monster of a man if it was the last thing she would ever do. This, Renfri vowed to herself would come to pass, so  Lilit help her. 

_ If she had to burn, so would he. _

Opening her eyes wider, she saw a meager bowl of soup at the door of her cell, and she scrambled for it as quickly as possible and drank it down. It was cold and disgusting, but she was famished, and she’d eaten worse. If Renfri was to survive this place, she would have to eat what was given her. 

There was also a chipped cup of water, and she drank this down slower, leaving a bit for later. There was a chamber pot in the corner, and Renfri went to relieve herself. After that she curled up in the corner, naked and cold, but alive. Renfri stoked the embers of her rage, for that is what would keep her warm here. 

When Stregobor came back, she’d be ready. She’d bide her time and then she’d rip  his  fucking throat out with her  own  teeth.

And come back he did, and this time she said nothing as she was blindfolded and strong armed by hooded minions into the bare room and strapped down under the painfully bright light.

“Hello again, Renfri. Did you like the soup? A few rats died to make  it, I hope it was to your liking.”

Renfri only stared at him, expression carefully blank, her breathing steady. It would do no good to panic now. That would come later.

“Nothing to  say? Not even a thank  you? You were always such an ungrateful girl.” And with that Stregobor stepped closer, and Renfri tried to brace for the pain that was to come. Like last time, it was impossible to prepare for. 

He made the same swooping motion, and this time he  opened up her chest cavity and she vomited up bile as she felt his hands in her chest. She screamed and screamed until her voice was hoarse, the  white - hot pain blinding her to everything else. Renfri watched, as if outside her own body, as Stregobor held little bits of her in his hands, as samples to be studied she supposed.

Renfri passed out eventually, and any dreams she had were filled with a laughing Stregobor, his hands holding her various mutated organs, crushing them in his hands.


	5. dear fellow traveler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more missed gay connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hell yeah
> 
> Song credit:  
> -dear fellow traveller by sea wolf

Jaskier had made his way back to  Whiterun when it seem ed he’d bled the town of  Rivergood dry with  performances . He  was making his way around the city  to different taverns. The temperate weather had people in good spirits,  ( all the better for  Jaskier . ) It made for easy crowd and easy lays. He’d dealt with a few close calls of husbands (and wives) coming home to find him in their partner’s bed, but like alway s  Jaskier escaped with his wits  ( and his bits ) intact.

The Imperial presence in Whiterun was pretty strong, and it always put him on the edge. Jaskier wasn’t a supporter of the Stormcloaks per say, but he held hatred for the Empire and Imperial Legion all the same. 

He’d seen what they were capable of, after all. 

Shaking away those dark thoughts,  Jaskier went in search of a tailor after his performance. For the sake of  tr a veling light he never carried too much on him, and he mended his own clothes, but when his travel or performing clothes got too worn or  faded he would treat himself to a new outfit or two. It was about time he got new s hoes as well, that was for sure. Oh, and under clothes, while he was at it...

He made his way towards a well-known but reasonably priced tailor that he knew within the city. At the tailor’s he went through the process of being fitted, choosing fabrics, and haggling prices. Jaskier had always been quite fond of blue (the color of his eyes) so he commissioned a doublet of deep cobalt blue and one of sky blue, with two pairs of trousers to match, and two undershirts to boot. As the tailor was taking his final measurements, Jaskier spotted a mannequin in the corner spotting a fine doublet and trousers of deep velvety black, with a multi-colored sheen like a crow’s feather to it. Jaskier wasn’t usually one for black, but this ensemble called to him.

He asked how much for it to be fit to his size and handed over the money gladly. His performances had garnered a lot of coin as of late, and while not one to be frivolous too often,  Jaskier was wont to indulge his fancies  occasionally . 

He would just have to buy a bigger pack, is all. 

The tailor assured him his outfits would be done within the week, and  Jaskier made his way to the leather makers to have a pair of  sturdy but fashionable boots made for him. After being measured, he  was on his way with the promise of shoes within the week. 

Early evening found Jaskier back at the inn he was staying at, where he was scheduled to play into the night. He smiled at the barkeep upon enteringand made his way up to his room to retrieve his lute and freshen up. There was a basin of water and clean rag waiting for him in his surprisingly cozy room, where he quickly cleaned up as much as he could. The room was warm, and the bed surprisingly soft. The bard took a vial of chamomile perfume from his bag, dabbing the oil on until he was satisfied.

Making his way back down to the tavern, he was pleased to see the crowd had significantly grown. The place was pretty packed, the patrons already drinking heavily and making merry. Jaskier retrieved some light ale, making his way to the front of the room. Best to start with a lively tune then. He decided on a quick drinking ditty, one he learned from a traveling musician from a faraway land called Arda. It was a bit short, so he improvised more lyrics here and there.

 _“_ _...Oh, you can search far and wide_   
_You can drink the whole town dry_   
_But you'll never find a beer so brown_   
_As the one we drink in our hometown_   
  
_You can keep your fancy ales_   
_You can drink '_ _em_ _by the flagon_   
_But the only brew for the brave and true_   
_Comes from the Green_ _Dragon_ _!_ _”_

The locals catch on to the lyrics and sing with him, stamping and clapping along as they throw coin his way. He winks and smiles at all the right times, bowing at the applause before launching into his next song , the one he’d come up with on the road to River w ood. 

_“_ _Dear fellow traveler_   
_Under the moon_   
_I saw you standing in the shadows and your eyes were_ _blue_   
_You put your hand out_   
_Opened the door_   
_You said come with me boy, I want to show you something more_   
  
_You spoke my language_   
_And touched my limbs_   
_It wasn't difficult_   
_To pull me from myself again_   
_And in our travels_   
_We found our roads_   
_You held it like a mirror, showing me_ _the life_ _I chose_   
  
_And now we turn to my beautiful city_   
_Black skies changed into blue_   
_And my love is so wise and so pretty_   
_But_ _tonight_ _I still dream of you_   
  
_Dear fellow traveler_   
_Under the moon_   
_I think I'm growing weary and I'm hoping you'll come soon_   
_And if I see you_   
_In clean new clothes_   
_I hope you hold the mirror up to show me what I chose_   
  
_And I returned to my beautiful city_   
_Black skies change into blue_   
_And though my love is so wise and so pretty_   
_Some nights I'll still dream of you_   
_And I'll return to my beautiful city_   
_Black skies change into blue_   
_And though my love is so wise and so pretty_   
_Some nights I'll still dream of you,_   
_You_   
  
_And I know you're out there, in the shadows_   
_I know you're out there, in the shadows_   
_I know you're out there, in the shadows_   
  
_Dear fellow traveler, underneath the moon_   
_Dear fellow traveler, underneath the moon_   
_Dear fellow traveler, underneath the moon.._ _._ _”_

He let the strumming of his lute and his voice linger into the silence, and he was met with an uproar of applause. He bowed with a flourish, eyes sparkling. “Thank you, thank you my friends-that is the first time I have performed “My Fellow Traveler” for a crowd, and I am gladdened to see it pleased you so!”

He spotted a pretty barmaid leaning against the counter, staring at him with wide brown eyes. “Whose it about, Sir Bard? A lady love?”

Jaskier chuckled and pondered this for a moment. He didn’t have anyone who it was about, more like a stranger passing him in the night, a fellow traveler on the road. Maybe it was a manifestation of his desire not to travel alone, a yearning for a friend to share his adventures with. 

Shaking himself out of a reverie he sent a grin and a wink her way. “Oh, can’t give away all my  secrets can I? A fellow bard might find my muse and swoop them up and away from me!” This was met with riotous laughter, and the maid ’s was loudest and most pleasing to the ear of all.

A s he began his next song,  Jaskier wondered idly what other noises one c ould coax from those pretty lips.

As he played, his eye was caught by a cloaked figure exiting the tavern, a flash of white hair there and gone in an instant. He blinked, feeling a sense of déjà vu. Shaking his  head he focused back in on the melody of his next song, stamping and grinning into the night. 

\----

Geralt did not know why ever y blasted tavern or inn he stayed in these days had to have a damned bard. Was a bit of peace and quiet too much to  ask? Grumbling, he made to find another tavern to drink alone in until it was later and time to return  to the inn for bed. 

What was worse is that some of the songs he’d heard recently were sticking in his head, and once he’d almost found himself humming one before catching himself and scoffing. So far there had not been any contracts to take in or around  Whiterun , and the one he had managed to find a few days prior had turned out to be a huge fuss over nothing. What was rumored to be a  succubus preying on the town turned out to be a young woman who was sneaking around at night, gracing more than a few men’s beds with her presence. 

What a huge waste of time.

Finding a suitable tavern, Geralt settled down yet another evening of drinking alone. Just the way he liked it.

\-----

The evening was wrapping up, and as  Jaskier finished his last song, he flitted his eyes around the room until he spotted the busty barmaid. He had learned in passing that her name was Rosie, with red cheeks and cur ly blonde hair. He’d been exchanging flirtatious looks with her the whole of the night, and no angry father or husband had come out of the woodwork yet to threaten his life, so that was a good sign. 

Collecting his coin and collection hat, he made his way over to the bar to quench his thirst with some ale. As he predicted, the barmaid came to lean against the counter next to him, fluttering her pretty lashes.

He grinned at her, taking a long sip of his drink. “Hello again, Rosie how’d you enjoy the show?”

She giggled, her cheeks pink. “ ’ Twas very good Sir Bard, you have a way with words! I’d bet you charmed the skirts  off of every woman in the room.”

His eyes lingered on her lips, before he lifted them to meet her eyes. “Oh I would hope so, Rosie I would hope so. But there was a particular fair lady I was hoping I’d have that effect on tonight.”

She giggled again, leaning forward so he got a very good eyeful of her bountiful cleavage. “Oh, ‘tis that so? Do tell, Sir Bard...”

“Jaskier, please, my dear Rosie.”

“Mm,  Jaskier then...”

As he continued to entice and entertain her, he caught a familiar cloaked figure  entering and sitting in a corner next to the inn’s  stairs and got a flash of a strong jawline. He wondered at the faint sense of recognition, before his attention was  thoroughly recaptured by the sultry look in Rosie’s eyes.

“Well Rosie, would you like a more... _ intimate _ music lesson from a Master Bard?”

She bit her lip, and oh  Jaskier was weak to her charms. She took his hand and giggling, they slipped to and up the inn’s stairs, stumbling tipsily to  Jaskier’s room as they fumbled at each other’s clothes.

Jaskier could compose a ballad waxing poetic just about the sounds and sighs Rosie made, as he played her with skilled fingers.

\------

Geralt’s head was beginning to hurt at the din in the tavern that he’d returned to for the night, but at least there was no more singing. A giggling couple brushed past him and up the stairs, and he vaguely recognized the Bard from before. A flash of blue eyes and tousled brown hair, and he was gone.

Sighing and rubbing his temples, Geralt followed soon after, planning on collapsing into bed immediately upon arrival. He wondered idly if he should leave Whiterun soon, and see if there’d be more contracts available on his way to the Kingdom of Cintra. He’d heard of the emergence of more monsters and creatures that a ways, even if Cintra was quite the distance.

With that thought his breathing slowed, and the  W itcher slipped off into a deep sleep.

\----

A week passed in mostly leisure and lots of gigs for Jaskier, and his coin purse was beginning to be difficult to carry. He made this work by dividing the coin into several purses and purchasing a larger traveling pack while he was at it.

It was also time to pick up his clothes from the tailor and try them on in case any finishing changes were needed. Jaskier made his way over, the day sunny and bright. The city was bustling as always, but Jaskier was in no hurry. When he finally made it he was pleased to be the only customer at the moment, and he was welcomed to start trying the finished products on right away. All fit to a t, as they always did, and he thanked the tailor for his time and work, with a few extra coins for good measure. He took the clothes back to the inn and packed them away neatly into his pack, deciding on wearing the black blue doublet and trousers today.

It was about lunchtime, and  Jaskier had some time to  w h ile away. He decided to call for a bath, having been too tire after his  late - night romp to take one last night. In the meantime, he busied himself with organizing his song notes, making a note to retrieve more ink and paper as soon as possible. 

When the bath was ready and steaming,  Jaskier sank into it with a sigh and lathered up with the lavender soap he so treasured. He took his time until he was sparkling clean, and then went to work with on his hair, his chamomile shampoo leaving it soft and shiny. Af ter exiting the  bath he cleaned his teeth with his tooth brushing twig, and rinsing with a dash of spearmint oil and water. H e dabbed on his daily moisturizer that he always stocked up on in  Whiterun and other major cities, donning the black doublet and trousers that shone like a crow’s wing in the light. He felt quite dashing if he did say so himself .

Making his way down the stairs and out of the inn, he headed to the market for a spot of lunch. He passed various stalls selling differing wares, and he took his time while munching on a hefty piece of meat on a stick. The sun was shining , and everything was just right.

That was of course when everything, as  Jaskier would often say, went to absolute  _ shite.  _


	6. there's a monster in the woods and it looks very much like me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renfri gets her revenge (you're welcome)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW  
> graphic torture, blood, organs, gore, human sacrifice

And so it went. Renfri would wake up back in her cell with a new scar, and a new concoction of foul soup and old water. She tried to keep herself as warm as possible, gathering all the dirty straw and covering herself with it. She could not tell if it was night or day, but it hardly mattered. When she did sleep it was fitful and full of nightmares that woke her with ear-wrenching screams.

One day she woke up, and she waited to be fetched. And waited. A meal was delivered by a minion, as she called them, but no one else came all day. Or the next, except for meals and to take her chamber pot. A s much as she was grateful for the reprieve, the break in pattern made her nervous and paranoid.

So for the first time in a long time, Renfri prayed. She settled on her knees and bowed her body forward, her arms spread along the dirty floor. Renfri  did not follow  t he Cult of the Great  S un, nor the Nordling Pantheon, nor to any other major religion in the land.

No, Renfri prayed only to  Lilit . 

She closed her eyes and spoke in a fevered whisper.

“I pray to  Lilit-Niya , I beg for her guidance

I call to the owl, the snake, and the ostrich

And ask  them to lend me their s kills

Of the owl, I would ask for wisdom

Of the snake, I would ask for cunning

And of the ostrich, I would ask for strength

Aid me in my time of need, oh Revered One,

D rink of the blood I give unto thee

and fill the river valleys with red under a Black Sun...”

With her teeth Renfri tore at the skin of her wrist, letting the blood drip to the floor as she dipped her fingers in it, drawing a crossed circle and the symbol of the black sun on the dirt floor. She repeated her prayer,  over and over again , tracing the symbols on her arms and muttering for how long she knew naught.

Eventually she fell asleep, her dreams filled with the lithe forms of naked women in golden crowns, their arms full of silver bowls that held and poured rivers of blood on to the land, and  Renfri was bathed in the warmth of it, the scent of iron filling her nose. In the dream she ope ned them again and came face to face with a faceless being that wavered at the edges, a being that was too much for a simple mortal mind to perceive much less describe . All she could make out were some sort of great horns that stretched from the being ’ s head into the sky.

The being opened her mouth, and though Renfri could not understand the words, she knew that her prayers were being answered. Blood poured forth from the great being ’ s mouth and it covered Renfri from head to toe, and all she felt was love, fierce an d all encompassing. The being uttered a word, and it was at that moment Renfri woke. She could not remember most of the dream, only that she felt warm and secure, and powerful. Strength seemed to flow through her veins, and when she rose and looked at the floor, she saw that where she had traced bloody sy mbol into the ground, the lines had been burned into the dirt.

She smiled, and it was a feral, sharp thing.

Renfri was ready.

\--------

When she next woke and had downed the cold soup and water, they came for her again. Blindfolded and led to the room, she did nothing as she was shackled to the cursed table once again. Renfri watched as Stregobor entered, eyes beady and ugly and searching. 

“Ah Renfri, so sorry for the wait. I was preparing for our next experiment you see, which required some things I did not have at the time.” He smiled, and stepped closer, gesturing in the air, and Renfri prepared to be sliced into again.

But it never came, and it looked as if was drawing something in the air with his hands. It was composed of simple motions, and Renfri studied them very  very carefully as he repeated them in the air over and over until faint glowing lines appeared in the air.

“The spell I have to keep one alive during vivisection is not mine own you see, it was given to me by another mage, and it cannot be altered by any other but the original mage. He was eager to help me in my research and modified the spell for me. Now, we can go further than we have ever gone before. I have been looking forward to this...” He seemed to shudder in what looked like pleasure, and Renfri couldn’t help a wretch.

Renfri was nothing if not smart, and in her  life there were times when the sharpness of her memory was vital to her survival. She would not soon forget the motions he’d made in the air, burned into her brain now as they were and in the  order he’d done them

Stregobor stepped closer, and then stepped behind her head. Her breathing sped up, hating that  she could not see him or what he was doing.

“Now Renfri, now I can finally open up and peek into this twisted head of yours. Who knows what mutations to the brain you possess he all but purred, his fingers tracing lightly over her scalp and  cheeks. She shuddered in re vulsion, wishing she could bite his fingers off.

“ Renfri , are you ready? I assure you, there is no pain quite like this , and you are the first to ever experience it alive. You should feel honored...”

She glared and spat out “Go to hell, Stregobor.”

He leaned over her suddenly, and his beady eyes were so close. “Prepare yourself, Renfri.” He raised his hands, and it was then that she acted, not knowing what she would do until that exact moment.

“ Lilit , give me strength!” She screamed, loud and furious, and her ankles and wrist and neck where she was shackled suddenly burned with white hot heat.  She felt her bonds shatter, and she was leaping into action immediately.

Using the element of  surprise she grabbed  Stregobor’s wrists in an iron like grip, and with a strength she did not know she  possessed, threw him up and over her into the far wall. He was stunned, and Renfri did not hesitate. She leaped from the table, and fell on him, grasping him by the throat and straddling him. Renfri  id not give him a chance to utter a word or make any motions for spells, punching him over and over and over again in the face until he lay  daz e d and hardly moving, and she felt her blood sing with the power given to her by what could only be  Lilit her self.

“ Oh,Stregobor ...,” she whispered, holding his hands down as he struggled feebly under her. “How long I have waited for this. She leaned down, whispering in his ear “We are going to have so much fun...” And with that she hit him brutally over the head, knocking him out cold, and set to work.

\------

Renfri waited a while, not leaving the room in fear of Stregobor waking up without her there. Power still flowed through her veins, and she thanked  Lilit in her head  over and over again , promising the highest of sacrifices in return for her favor.

Stregobor was strapped to the same table she had lain on, the  still intact collar around his neck and secured. She had stuffed a rag in his mouth lest he wake and utter a spell to free himself or render her helpless.

_ Never again will I be helpless. Never _

She turned, hearing a muffled groan as Stregobor woke up. His eyes widened and she saw him look around, struggling as he realized his predicament. Renfri smirked and walked slowly over to stand before his naked and prone form.

“Not so high and mighty are we now, Stregobor? In all honesty I expected this to be much harder, subduing you, but it was easier than I thought. I have Lilit to thank for that of course.”

As Stregobor watched, his eyes somehow widening further, as she began to trace the same lines in the air that he had, an exact copy of what he’d done.  Renfri  traced them over and over as he had, until they glowed brightly in the air. She sm iled, dazzled at her own handiwork , the power flowing through her.

“To think, woman-killer- you tried oh so hard to wipe us out, the daughters of  Lilit .” She grinned, and laughed de ep and throaty, “Look at you now...”

She stared down at him as he shook in fear and she curled her lip in disgust as the smell of piss fill ed  the air.

“Pathetic. I held up much better than this, wizard. It’s not fun to be the helpless one, is it?” She ripped the gag from his  mouth knowing he was now helpless to her.

With this she raised her arms  an d closed her eyes, and began to speak, her voice growing in strength.

“Oh Lilit I call unto thee,

O snake, owl, ostrich, bear  witness. . . ”

She swo o ped her  r ight hand in a downward motion , opening up Stregobor from sternum to groin, and oh his screams were music to her ears .

Renfri slashed her hand in the air several times, careful and precise, and similar slits opened up in both his arms and legs and chest cavity. Stregobor did not stop screaming, and her toothy grin threatened to split her face. 

“What’s wrong Stregobor ?” She reached down into his guts, taking hold of the wet rope of his intesti nes and pulling it out, making sure he could see. “You may not have any mutations, but despite all your posturing you’re just as human as the rest of us. Just as  _ weak. _ _ ”  _ She gave a  quick jerk then, yanking at this  intestine .

She went slow, relishing his horrified shrieks and whimpers.  “Is this what got you off Stregobor, cutting into little girls? Locking them up in towers, letting them die?”

Renfri continued her chant  where  she left off , looking to the ceiling. 

“...to the gift and sacrifice I offer unto thee

The very blood and heart of  he who has so wronged you

He who has slandered your name and slaughtered your daughters

Who would mock your power and think himself above your might

Oh Lilit hear my prayer, and feast as I feast, drink as I drink

The heart and blood of mine enemy and your blasphemer !”

With that she yanked out his beating heart with her bare hand, but still he lived from the spell. She brought his beating heart to her mouth, hands bloody and glistening and hot with blood.  Her eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth, taking a huge bite out of the organ and Stregobor wailed. She chewed, relishing as the muscle gave way to her teeth, the taste  strangely exquisite. Blood poured from the muscle, and she gathered it in a cupped hand and drank, eyes fl uttering.

She continued, devouring the heart whole, licking the blood from her lips. When she was  finished she licked her fingers clean, and tilted her head, wondering what next to do with the still living Stregobor. What a lovely spell.

“You know, I could end it here, kill you now. But I find that I don’t want to. You smell like shit of course, and I’ll be taking a thorough bath after this, but I’m not quite done with my  fun.” Studying him, his body open before her, she  honed in on his liver. Without a thought she ripped it out, placing it on a small metal table besides the operating ta ble. Next, his kidneys, placed delicately besides the liver. And then she had the most wonderful idea.

Walking behind his head, she leaned down to whisper in his ear. “You should be honored, Stregobor, no one else has had the privilege to experience this before.” She grinned and with a few motions of her hands , carefully took the top of his head, and removed it to reveal the top of his pulsing brain. She ran her fingers over the top, and with two motions cut a section away, lifting it in her hand and placing it on the table with her other prizes, but not before showing it to Stregobor.

He hadn’t passed out, and she wondered if it was part of the modified spell. Whatever the case, she was glad for it; she wanted him to experience every little detail of his torture. 

“And for the grand finale-” and with a swift motion she cleaved his cock from his body, and it was this scream that would stick with Renfri for years after. It was glorious to hear.

With all her prizes laid out on the table, she lifted the brain, eyes skyward.

“This, I offer to the owl, to fuel her wisdom and power...” She crushes the part of the brain in her fist, placing the wrangled remains on the table. Then she picks up the kidneys.

“These, I offer to the snake, to heighten her cunning and agility...” Renfri crushes these in her hands as well, placing them down, and he picks up the liver.

“This, I offer to the ostrich, to feed her strength...” She crushes it, placing it down, and she finally picks up the severed cock.

“And this, I offer to  Lilit , to feed her revenge against the sins of Men, who have long abused the women of the world...” This member she uses the magic to slice, and the remains fall messily on the table.

Finally she turns to Stregobor, leaning over his prone body, looking him straight in the eye as he trembled with pain and fear.  “When I cut my finger, I bleed. When I overeat, my stomach aches. When I’m happy, I laugh. When I’m upset, I swear. And when I hate someone...” Wit h  this she got  closer, eyes bori ng into his.

“...And when I hate someone, for stealing my whole life from me, I kill him.” The familiar words seemed to echo in the room. She made a motion, breaking the glowing symbols in the air, and in the same moment slashed his head from his shoulders,

Renfri did not even flinch as his decapitated head hit the floor, his face still frozen in shock and fear.

In one sudden swoop all her energy left her, and she collapsed to her knees in the cursed room. She was trembling, but she was smiling, and for the first time in a long time, she felt vindicated. She felt free. 

Stregobor was dead, and the world was better for it. Stregobor was dead, and maybe less women and girls would die at the hands of sorcerers. 

Renfri wasn’t sure how long she sat there, but eventually she stood on shaking legs, going over to pick up Stregobor’s head, and made her way out of the room for the last without looking back. With Stregobor’s illusion magic dead with him, the tower became what it used to be, dusty and old and falling apart. Renfri searched the rooms, looking for anything to clothe herself with. Finally, she found a dusty bedroom with a closet full of old moth-eaten clothes. They were men’s clothes, but Renfri hardly cared, and she donned a pair of dusty boots that lay at the bottom of the closet. They fit, thank Lilit, although they were a little large. Renfri was just glad to no longer be naked.

She donned an old cloak, and made her way to explore the other rooms, seeing if there was anything else of use. Renfri came across a room that was cleaner than the others and she assumed it to be Stregobor’s, and she went to searching. She found a hefty coin purse that she tucked into a pocket of her cloak. She also found did a cask of oil and matches by the fireplace. 

Renfri went around the first floor, drizzling the oil everywhere until it ran out. Carrying the matches and the head of the wizard outside the tower, she stuck his head on one of the spikes of the gate outside the tower. Turning, she lit a match, throwing it through the doorway, and watched in glee as the place went up in flame and smoke.

Renfri watched it burn for a long while, before slipping away from the tower and  Blaviken into the forest. She would find another town, one that did not know her or her name, and finally get a gods-be-damned bath .


	7. out of the frying pan and into the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit hits the fan in so many ways

No one could say who started it exactly.

Did an  I mperial soldier make a snide comment about one of the men, who  incidentally turned out to be a  Stormcloak rebel, or did a  Stormcloak rebel brazenly spit onto the boot of an Imperial soldier?

No one could ever be sure.

All Geralt knew was that one moment he was in the  Whiterun market , looking to stock up on ingredients for his potions, and the next an market wide scuffle had broken out. It began with shouts and then the clashing of steel, and it looked to be a fight between a group of Imperial soldiers and a group of scruffy looking Nords. 

Townspeople started screaming, and a lot of running around and general chaos that ensued, Geralt could’ve rolled his eyes into the back of his head. Of course. It was decidedly, as usual, not his day.

He barely avoided colliding with an Imperial soldier who had been kicked in his direction, but Geralt was nothing if not agile. A Stormcloak rebel knocked a weapon out of an Imperial’s hand and tackled him to a ground in a full out brawl. Townspeople had joined in on the fight, their blood riled up. 

There was a petite woman who’d jumped on the back of an Imperial soldier and was beating his ears bloody. Geralt raised his eyebrows at this, surprised at her ferocity. Apparently, there was no love lost between the townspeople of Whiterun and the Imperial Legion. 

Some unwilling townspeople were caught up in the fighting, and when Geralt spotted an older man getting kicked while he was down by an Imperial soldier he sighed deeply and threw himself into the fray. He grabbed the soldier by the back of his cloak and tossed him to the side like a rag doll. He offered his hand down to the old man, helping him up gingerly and leading him out of the fray. The old man looked up at him, eyes watery, mumbling a broken thank you. An old woman let out a cry at the sight of him, latching onto him and checking for injuries. 

Geralt turned back to the mayhem,  to look for any other unwilling participants caught up in this mess. A flash  of black caught his eye - and Geralt spotted a young man being clocked in the face by an Imperial. Geralt headed in that direction, but not before seeing the strangely familiar young man whip out a butterfly knife that danced expertly in his fingers as he made a slash at the Imperial soldier.  His nose and lip were bleeding, but his blue eyes were bright and furious.

Geralt shook himself out of a daze and aimed to help him, because the soldier was armed with a broadsword and the young man had only a knife. When he was close enough he threw a punch into the side of the head of the soldier, and the man dropped like a stone. The young man looked up wildly, eyes still bright, and Geralt was surprised to find he recognized the man.

It was the bard from the tavern, clothed in a black doublet that shifted colors like a crow’s feather.

The bard grinned at him, wiping blood from his nose on his sleeve. “Thank  you, stranger , though I had him handled on my own!”

Geralt scoffed in the din of the fight, rolling his eyes. “ Of course you did.”

The bard spluttered, looking indignant, but Geralt did not give him a chance to respond as he ducked a slash he heard coming from behind, the whistle of steel through air loud to his sensitive ears. Turning  swiftly he whipped out his iron sword i n a flash, parrying the next blow. The soldier’s eyes widened at the side of him, and the look was familiar. Geralt knew he looked fierce, feral even, not very human.

With another swift move he knocked the blade out of the soldier’s  hand, and flipped his sword , t o hit the man across the head with the  pommel . The man went down instantly, and Geralt grunted as he flipped the h ilt back into his palm. He flicked his eyes over his shoulder, noting  that  the ba rd was unharmed, but  now  staring at Geralt in slack-jawed awe.

“That was incredible! Where did you learn to fight like that , stranger?”

Geralt didn’t  deign to answer, instead grabbing the bard by the doublet and dragging him from the fight. The bard did not take well to being  manha nd led , but Geralt did not much care. He felt if  in his gut that if  he left the bard, the young man would find himself back in trouble almost immediately. It was just a gut feeling.

“Unhand me sir, I am quite capable of-” but  t he  bard  never finished his thought, his eyes spotting the circle of Imperial soldiers that now surrounded them, spears and swords raised.

“Halt, strangers!” One of them barked, eyes blazing. “Drop your weapons!”

Geralt only stared at the Imperial, eyes flicking around and counting eleven soldiers surrounding them in all, and it looked like there was more on their way. Geralt cursed under his breath, unhanding the bard who stumbled next to him.

“Now look here, fine soldier, I think there seems to be some mistake-”

The soldier cut  the young man off, barking an order. “I said drop your weapon, now, or face the consequences!”

Geralt cursed again and placed his weapon on the ground, posture relaxed.  “ Peace, soldier. We mean no harm.”

The head soldier’s eyes narrowed, none of them lowering their weapons. “You have been charged with causing mayhem in the streets of Whiterun, and several counts of assault on Imperial soldiers-both of you.”

The bard spluttered, and Geralt shut his eyes in defeat, already knowing the man would stick his foot in his mouth. “Now see here, I was simply caught up in this mess and was defending  myself when an Imperial soldier  _ attacked me-” _

_ “ _ Quiet citizen! We have a dozen witnesses that would say otherwise!”

The  b ard opened his mouth to protest, but Geralt hit him in the shoulder, shutting him up quickly. He sighed, wondering how he always seemed to end up in messes like this. “We’ve lain our weapons down, soldier, we will leave in peace.”

The soldier smirked, and it was cruel and hard. Geralt could hear the audible gulp of the bard. 

“Oh, you two aren’t going anywhere. You’re coming with us. Guards!”

It was then that Geralt felt a swift and brutal blow to the back of his head, and he saw no more.

\-----

Jaskier groaned, slowly coming back to consciousness, his head pounding mercilessly. He opened his eyes slowly, feeling as if he was being jostled. As his eyes opened further, he realized he was in a cart, his hands bound tightly by tight rope. Panicking, he looked around, his head swimming from the motion.

“Hey you, you’re finally awake.”

Jaskier blinked, staring into the blue eyes of a ragged looking Nord in the seat of the cart across from him. He licked his dry lips, his voice gravely. “What’s...going on?”

The Nord’s eyes flicked between him and someone on his right and looking in that direction  Jaskier saw the white - haired man next to him, slowly blinking awake and struggling against the rope.

“You two were caught fighting with Imperial soldiers, right? Walked right into an Imperial and scuffle, same as us, and that thief over there.” He motioned with his head at a cowering man seated at the end of the cart.

The thief glared at  him, his eyes dark. “Damn you  Stormcloaks ,  Skyrim was fine  until you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and gotten halfway to  Hammerfell . You there, you and me, we shouldn’t be here. It’s these  Stormcloaks the E m pire wants.”

Jaskier was slowly realizing, with dawning horror, the situation they’d found themselves in .

The Nord glared back. “We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.” He spat the word like a curse.

The soldier drawing the carriage snapped, voice annoyed. “Shut up back there!”

“What’s wrong with him, huh?”

The Nord grunted, chancing a glance at the burly man seated next to Geralt, a gag around his mouth. “ Watch your tongue, you’re speaking t o Ulfric  Stormcl oa k , the true High King!”

The thief’s eyes widened as he stared at the said man across from him.  ”Ulfric ? The Jarl of  Windhelm ? You’re the leader of the Rebellion, but if they’ve captured you...oh Gods, where are they taking us?” His voic e cracked in fear. 

The Nord turned to the front of the cart, seeming to stare at nothing. “ I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits.” His voice was somber, eyes downcast. 

A spike of cold fear went through  Jaskier then at the mention of the Nordic afterlife, as they made  there way to their deaths.  Jaskier glanced at the white - haired man beside him, who had been silent until now, expression grim.

Or was that just his normal face? Jaskier couldn’t tell.

The thief paled, struggling against his bonds. “No,  this can’t be happening, this isn’t happening!”

The Nord glanced at him, pity in his gaze. “Hey, what village are you from horse-thief?”

The thief in question scoffed, defensive. “Why do you care?”

The Nord just looked at him, resigned. “A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.” 

The thief glanced down, and his eyes glistened. “ Ror ik stead , I’m...from  Ror ik stead .”

Jaskier glanced down at his hands and noticed they were shaking. Nothing felt quite real  at the moment . His mind flashed back to his hometown , a small but prosperous settlement that his family was the head of, their bloodline noble. A Viscount, he would’ve been, if his father had had his way.  Jaskier remembered temple school, the lash of the cane and bleeding knuckles.

But more than that he remembered his mother, who he  had n’t seen in so long, and the lullabies she used to sing to him. More than that he remembered playing in the gardens with his little sister, Astrid, who died too young from fever. He remembered her laugh clear as day, her sparkling blue  eyes and chocolate ringlets. He remembered the daisy chains he made for her, and the sloppy ones she’d made for him, which he wore  w ith pride despite his father’s  disapproval .

He remembered the lullabies he’d used to sing her to sleep with, and the last lullaby he ever sang to her, as she drifted off for the last time.

Jaskier felt unshed tears in his eyes, an old ache in his breast. He would never see his hometown or mother or sister again, and his memories of them woul d  die with him.

Glancing once again at the white-haired stranger beside him, he murmured in low tones, trying to lighten the mood of impending doom. “ I like how you just sit there and brood.  What’s your name, stranger? I never caught it. C o me on, you wouldn’t keep a man soon to have his head lobbed off waiting, would you? ”

The man glanced at him, seeming as if to struggle with something, and then grit out a name. “Geralt. Geralt of Rivia .”

_ Geralt of Rivia... _

The name struck a chord in him, as if it wa s a name he’d heard before, and he was taken back to a silvery bard with pale eyes .

_ “He was tall, a big hulking creature of a man. He had long white hair, and from the distance even I could see his eyes were a burning yellow. Almost like a wolf’s, I would say. I suppose he could’ve been very handsome, if he hadn’t looked so...inhuman.” _

Jaskier was struck with the memory of the bard’s words, as he took in the man before him.  _ A real life  _ _ W _ _ itcher, in the flesh!  _ _ Oh _ _ I have so many questions... _ but rather than ask them,  Jaskier bit his tongue, knowing this was not the time. Well, it would never be the time as it was.

‘Well since you asked,” (Geralt didn’t) “The name is Jaskier! I’m sure you’ve heard of me!’ He beamed.

Geralt, without looking at him, did not react. Instead he simply stated, “I have not.”

Jaskier deflated, but was determined to hold some type of conversation with the man. “You know, out of all the ways I expected my life to end, I did not predict this.” He chuckled, but it was a hollow sound. “I half expected to die by the hand of a furious husband or wife, or getting eaten in the wild. Executed by Imperial soldiers? Not even on the list!”

He was met with heavy silence.

Jaskier persisted. “What about you, friend? I’m sure in, well, your line of work, there were many different options for your end.”

Geralt turned to him then, narrowing his golden eyes. “Not your friend. And how do you know anything of my line of work, as you say?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Lucky guess. I’ve heard of you in passing before. Pretty sure I’ve seen you in passing too, always a flash of white hair under a cloak. Never saw the eyes though. You have lovely eyes, did you know that? Of course you do, they are your eyes...” Jaskier knew he was rambling, trying to fill the weighted silence, fear flooding through him. 

Geralt squinted at him, as if trying to figure something out, then comprehension dawned in his gaze. “You’re the bard from the inns I’ve been traveling recently. The one who sings at any time of day, much to the detriment of one’s sleep...”

Instead of being offended,  Jaskier laughed, long and hearty, despite another barked order from the guard at the front to “shut the hell up already”. 

Jaskier leaned back, fiddling with his cuffs. “Well, it’s been nice knowing you, Geralt of  Rivia . It’s a damned shame it’s under such circumstances, but well, destiny is a fickle and cruel mistress.”  Jaskier sighed, staring up at the cloudy sky.

Geralt grunted, his only reply a pensive “Hmm.”

Jaskier was snapped out of his thoughts by a shout from the guard at the front, as they neared the gates of some wooden settlement. “General Tullius sir, the  he n c hmen is waiting!”

There was a barked response back, accented heavily. “Good, let’s get this over with!”

The thief began to pray frantically, calling out the name of various gods as they entered the gateway, and  Jaskier began to sweat despite the slight chill in the air. He wondered where they were, for the climate to have altered so. 

As they entered the stronghold, the Nord spoke again with disdain. “Look at him, General Tullius, the military  governor , and it looks like  the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves .  I bet they had something to do with this...”

The Nord looked around, recognition in his gaze. “This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.”

So it was in  Helgen that  J a skier was to meet his end. He would have composed a ballad of it, if he’d had the time. 

A child’s voice off to the side reached them, young and curious. “Who are they daddy, where are they going?”

A man’s voice responded, hushed and severe. “You need to go inside.”

The child  responded, voice defiant.  “ Why? I want to watch the soldiers!”

A sharp but familiar ache sprang up in  Jaskier’s chest, at the awe and admiration in the child’s voice. He wondered when that would change to anger, to hatred and bitterness. It always did, after all. 

The man barked  back, tone urgent. “Inside the house, now!”

“Yes, papa.”

The thief piped up as the cart slowed. “Why are we stopping!?”

A guard shouted somewhere nearby.  “ Move it!”

The Nord responded with a sigh. “Why do you think? End of the line...”

The cart came to a full stop next to another cart full of weary men set for the chopping block, and the soldier drawing the carriage leaped to the ground. 

The Nord, ever the talkative one, spoke again. “ Le t’s go. Shouldn’t keep the guard waiting...”

The thief shook his head as he got up, sweating profusely. “No wait! We’re not rebels!”

The Nord fired back as he got down from the cart, tone scornful. “Face your death with some courage, thief.”

The thief persisted, not to be deterred. “You’ve got to tell them we weren’t with you! This is a mistake!” His voice was pleading, desperate. 

A female  I mperial soldier raised her voice. “Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!”

Jaskier reluctantly got down from the cart, Geralt and who was supposedly Ulfric  Stromcloak right behind  him.

“Empire loves their damn lists...”

The man with the list looked down at the faded parchment, voice solemn. “Ulfric  Stormcloak , Jarl of Windhelm.”

The Nord in front of  Jaskier bowed his head. “ I t has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric.”

The man read another name. “ Ralof of Riverwood.”

The Nord stepped forward, head held high.

“ Lokir of R o ri k stead.”

Lokir the thief stepped forward, pleading. “No, I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” And with that he ran, shouting “You’re not going to kill me! ” The female Imperial soldier called out for the archers, and  Jaskier winced as the man fell soon after, a n arrow in his back.

She turned to the rest of them, glaring. “Anyone else feel like running!?”

The man on the list blinked in confusion, looking over to her. “Wait, you there...” He looked up directly at Jaskier, and swallowing, Jaskier obeyed.

“Wh o are you? You picked a bad time and place to be in, kinsm e n.” He turned to the female  soldier, eyes sad. “Captain, what should we do?  These two are  not on the list.”

She turned to him, dismissive. “Forget the list,  they go to the block.”

The man turned back to  Jaskier , avoiding his eyes. “By orders, Captain. I’m sorry. At least you’ll die here, in your homeland. Follow the Captain, prisoner.”

And follow he did, looking up at the cloudy sky, the last sight he would ever see.

General Tullius stood in front of Ulfric, gaze flinty. ”Ulfric Stormcloak, some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn’t use a power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne.”

“You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!”

A strange sound was heard from far off, a strange echoing wailing or cry. A guard exclaimed, voice fearful. “What was that?”

The General scoffed. ”Nothing, carry on.”

The Captain obeyed. ‘ Yes General Tullius! Give  them their last rites.”

The priest ess raised her  hands, and began to speak.  ”As we commend your souls to  Aetherius , blessing of the Eight Divines, The Soul and Earth of  Nirn -”

She  was cut off by  a soldier, barking “For the love of Talos, shut up and let’s get this over with!”

The priestess  glared, tone venomous. “As you wish.”

The soldier grabbed a prisoner, forcing him to his knees and kicking him down onto the block with his boot. The Stormcloak rebel on the block spoke, voice strong. “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?”

The axe came down and wit h  a sickening thud and a spurt of blood, his head hit the ground. Jaskier made himself look, trying not to panic. The man’s headless body fell to the side, still.

Somewhere to the right a villa g er shouted, her voice laced with fury. “ You  Imperial bastards!” Another cried “Justice!” and yet another yelled “Death to the  Stor mcloaks!”

The man who held the list looked down at the headless man. “As fearless in death, as he was in life.”

The captain barked an order out then, and  Jaskier’s blood ran cold, “Next! The man in black!” Suddenly another strange echoing cry was heard, closer this time. The guards and prisoners alike looked up and around, trying to spot the source. 

“There i t is again, did you hear that?”

The Captain ignored him. ‘I said, next prisoner!”

“To the block, prisoner, nice and easy.”

J a skier stepped forward and spat “My name’s  Jaskier , not prisoner. Maybe learn the names of the ones you kill, Imper ials .” Every step felt like an eternity, and with one last look over his shoulder his eyes met the gold en  ones of Geralt, who he  se nt a faint smile .

“Farewell, Geralt of Rivia. Safe travels to you.” He turned and was pushed to his knees in front of the block. He saw the previous man’s head in a crate in front of the block, and he tried not to vomit.

“Wait .”


	8. here there be dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier continues to get himself and Geralt into the wildest of shite situations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for general chaos and shenanigans

It was Geralt’s voice, cutting through the air and laced with command and a bit of urgency. 

The guard who had pushed him to his knees paused. “What did you say?” 

Jaskier heard a sigh. “I said, wait, spare the bard. He is not to blame. I’m the one who drew swords against the Imperial guards. Let him go.” 

Jaskier was reeling with shock. A complete stranger, a Witcher, defending him? What a strange series of events his execution was turning out to be. 

“Not a chance. Shut it, white hair.” 

With that Jaskier was pushed forward by a boot, his neck onto the block, looking to the side. So the last thing he would ever see are an executioner’s dirty boots, he thought bitterly. He turned his eyes upwards, to the sky, refusing for it to be so. The executioner raised his axe, and Jaskier closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the end. 

Suddenly a roar, now very closer tore through the air and Jaskier’s eyes flew open to behold an actual live _dragon_ in the sky. 

_What in the nine hells-_

The executioner cried, the first time he’d spoken. “What in Oblivion is that!?” 

The dragon flew over to them, it was monstrous in size. Jaskier’s blood ran cold, wondering at the irony that he was to be killed by a dragon, not by the axe. 

The Captain cried, “Sentries, what do you see!?” 

The dragon landed then, slamming its massive weight down on the tower a ways behind the executioner. The force of its landing shook the ground and sent the executioner to the ground. 

The Captain cried somewhere behind them, words unintelligible to Jaskier. The executioner struggled to get to his knees, bringing himself to his feet. 

The dragon then emitted an ear wrenching shout, an invisible force erupting from it and sending the executioner and guards flying. Jaskier could only lie there on the block, frozen, staring directly into the dragon’s dark eyes. 

Clouds swirled swiftly overhead, and what looked like meteors began to rain from the sky. Chaos ensued as the dragon emitted another shout, this one blue and more direct and Jaskier’s vision went fuzzy. 

A distant voice shouted, and Jaskier thought it might be the Nord. “Key, kinsmen! You too white hair! Come on, the gods won’t give us another chance!” 

Jaskier felt himself hauled up by his doublet, which was surely ruined now, and turned to see it was by Geralt. Looking around, shouts echoed around them as the dragon roared and brought its wrath down upon them. Jaskier’s vision was strange, as if he had hit his head, vision blurry around the edges. He saw the Nord running ahead before him, and before he could think Geralt was dragging him along beside him in that direction. 

The Nord ran for a stone tower with a spiraling stair, and Jaskier followed (well more like he was hauled along with little say in the matter). Inside was none other than Ulfric Stormcloak, his gag gone. 

The Nord (Jaskier could not remember his name) turned to the Jarl. “Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?” 

Jaskier spoke, suddenly finding his voice again. “Legends? What legends? And what does it matter, there’s a bloody _dragon_ about to kill us all!” His voice cracked several times but Jaskier did not care at the moment. 

They all stared at him for a moment, before the Jarl spoke. “Legends don’t burn down villages.” 

The dragon roared, and it was very close. Too close. 

The Jarl shouted, making to move. “We need to move, now!” 

The blonde Nord nodded. “Up through the tower, let’s go!” 

Jaskier spluttered as Geralt yet again grabbed hold of him. “ _Up_ through the tower, closer to the dragon!? Are you out of your-” But he never got to finish his statement as they headed up the stairs, Jaskier dragged unceremoniously behind like a sack of potatoes. 

“Come on, before the dragon brings the whole tower down!” 

“We just need to move these rocks to clear the way!” 

Suddenly the dragon knocked the wall in front of them in, sending stone everywhere. 

“Get back!” The Nord cried, panicking. Just in time too as the dragon let out a wreath of flame through the hole in the tower, and Jaskier heard screams behind them. It stopped, and the Nord crept cautiously to the hole. 

He turned back to them, face grim. ‘See that inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!” 

Jaskier paled, shaking his head furiously at the sight of the drop. “Nonono No, _Geralt_ -” 

“Go, we’ll follow when we can!” 

Without preamble Geralt wrapped his arms around the bard and Jaskier squawked, but was quickly cut off when Geralt jumped out of the tower and on to the bare upper floor of the inn. 

When they landed Geralt kept going, Jaskier in his arms as he jumped through a hold in the floor, landing like a cat on its feet. Spots of this floor were on fire as Geralt released him, but still tugged him along as if he didn’t trust Jaskier to keep up. 

They made their way out of the inn, spotting the man with the lists. He spoke, sword drawn. 

“Everyone, get back!” He spotted Geralt and Jaskier, face hard. “Still alive prisoners? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way.” 

Jaskier heard Geralt mutter under his breath even as a stream of dragon fire landed not far from them. “Doubt it.” 

Geralt stepped away from Jaskier then, stepping somewhere to the right and bending down. When he rose again he was holding two swords in scabbards, swords that Jaskier recognized as Geralt’s. He briefly mourned the loss of his belongings, all still back at the inn that he would probably never get back. Oh his lute! Alas, he could cry. 

There was the child and father from earlier near them, the boy shaking with fear. The list man turned to them. ”Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense!” 

Said Gunnar spoke, voice hoarse. “Gods guide you, Hadvar.” 

Ah, so that was his name. 

Hadvar went on his way, running to find the General. Geralt followed, again dragging Jaskier along with him. Better to stay in numbers, as it was, Jaskier guessed. They made their way through ruined buildings as the dragon roared overhead, screams sounding out all around. The ground and buildings trembled abruptly, as the dragon landed on the building to the left of them, it’s wing brushing Jaskier’s face. 

Jaskier nearly fainted where he stood. 

The dragon paid no attention to them, thank the gods, taking flight again. 

Hadvar continued on, and they followed through the ruined buildings and corpses strewn everywhere, some still burning. Somewhere a soldier shouted, “Die, for the love of the gods just die!” 

Another one spoke right after, “Come on, give me your hand-I'm getting you out of here.” 

Jaskier flashed back to a voice from long ago, face hazy but wide hand reaching out to him, _“Come on, give me your hand, I won’t hurt you-”_

Jaskier was snapped out of it as he felt heat on his back, dragon fire landing somewhere behind them, and they hurried forward. 

“It’s just us now prisoners, stay close!” They made their way towards a stone gate, archers around them trying to bring the dragon down to no avail. 

“How do we kill this thing!?” 

The ground shook, and Jaskier wondered if he was to die by dragon fire. 

Hadvar shouted then, spotting the blonde Nord. “Rolof! You damned traitor! Out of my way!” 

The Nord raised his sword, eyes flinty. “We’re escaping, Hadvar, you’re not stopping us this time!” 

Hadvar snorted. “Fine! I hope the dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” 

Rolof looked at Geralt and Jaskier then, motioning to them. “With me, prisoners, let’s go!” 

_Better than follow the Imperial guard, I suppose..._

They enter the Keep of Helgen, the dragon’s roars sounding around them through the stone. 

The blonde Nord, Ralof, made his way over to a fallen Stormcloak rebel, kneeling down. “We’ll meet again in Sovngarde, brother.” 

He got to his feet, turning back to them. “Looks like we’re the only ones who made it. That thing was a dragon, no doubt. Just like the children’s stories and the legends. The harbingers of the End Times.” 

Geralt, who had unhanded Jaskier and now stood beside him, scoffed and smiled nastily. “Dragons are hardly harbingers of doom. They’re rare, and supposedly died off, but not prophetic.” 

Rolof glared at him, but said nothing. “We’d better get moving. Come here, let me see if I can get those bindings off.” Jaskier supposed he just meant his own, seeing as Geralt had rid himself of them a while back. 

Rolof took a knife and sliced through the rope and Jaskier rubbed at his wrists, thanking him quietly. 

“There you go. You may as well take Gunjar’s gear. He won’t be needing it anymore...” 

Jaskier looked down at the body, then back at Ralof, then at Geralt, and then back at the body. 

_Would it be rude to refuse a dead man’s spoils? Possibly..._

Jaskier bent down next to the still warm body, going through his pockets. 

“Grab Gunjar’s gear, no shame in borrowing a friend’s axe.” Jaskier took the man’s sword, silently thanking the fallen man in the privacy of his own head. 

He went to stand back up, but Geralt spoke. “Take his armor, too. You’ll be needing the protection if we’re to get out of here alive.” 

Jaskier scoffed but did as the Witcher said. “I hardly think armor will hold up against dragon fire of all things, but alright...” 

Jaskier made to put on the armor but did not know where to start. He heard a sigh from Geralt, who stepped forward and batted Jaskier’s hands away as he expertly put it on for Jaskier. 

Jaskier looked decidedly anywhere but him, trying to make light of the situation as he was wont to do. ”My, my Geralt, couldn’t you buy me a drink first?” 

“Shut it,” Geralt muttered, finishing up with the fastenings of the worn leather armor. Jaskier fastened the sword belt, sliding the hefty sword into its worn scabbard. It was heavy, heavier than Jaskier thought a sword would be. 

Rolof hummed, turning away, “Give that sword a few swings, I’m going to try to find us a way out of here.” He went over to an iron gate, shaking the bars, “This one’s locked, let’s see about that gate.” He turned and made his way to the one across the room. Made of wood. “Damn, no way to open this from our side.” 

Through the gate Jaskier spotted figured, Imperial soldiers, and Ralof bid them to take cover. Drawing his sword as silently as possible as Geralt and Ralof did the same, they waited. 

It was the Imperial Captain, the gods-damned bitch. “Get this gate open, quickly!” 

The gate slid down, and the soldiers entered. The fighting immediately ensued as the Nord crossed swords with the first soldier, and Geralt leaped at the next. Jaskier held up his sword awkwardly as a soldier rushed at him, frozen to the spot. Something surged through him, and he was moving, bringing up his sword to block a heavy blow from the soldier’s sword. The ringing of steel filled the air, and in the next second Jaskier jumped back, swiping wildly in front of him, catching the guard in the arm. 

The guard roared, raising his sword- 

Geralt suddenly was there, rending the guard’s head from his shoulders, as Jaskier blinked and blood splattered onto his cheek. He raised a hand to it, wiping it away and wrinkling his nose, “Ew, gross. Geralt could you show some consideration for my face-” 

Geralt ignored him, twirling to fell the last soldier, whose body hit the ground with a thud. The gate had slid back up automatically, and Ralof growled in frustration. 

“Maybe one of these guards has the key to the gate on them.” He began rifling through the pockets of the guards’ bodies, and Geralt did the same. 

“Here we are! Found it!” The dragon roared somewhere outside, and Jaskier shivered. He felt strange, still blurry around the edges. Geralt was still rummaging through the soldier’s pockets, retrieving coin purses. 

_Smart move,_ Jaskier thought idly. _Looting bodies, escaping dragons, meeting a_ _Wi_ _tcher_ _\- what a day._ _This shall make for a fine ballad, if we escape with our live_ _s_ _that is..._

Ralof unlocked the gate and it slid up, clanking all the while. “Come on, let’s get out of here before the dragon brings the entire keep down on our heads! 

They followed, listening for more Imperial soldiers. They made their way down stone steps, supposedly to the dungeons. It was dark and dank down here, and it smelled. Suddenly the dragon roared, and hallway to their left was collapsed with stone. 

Ralof cursed. “Damn, this dragon doesn’t give up easy!” 

Suddenly, Imperial soldiers appeared from another doorway, and they braced themselves to fight. Geralt and Ralof made quick work of them. Jaskier didn’t have to lift a finger, much to his relief. 

Geralt stood there over a fallen soldier, panting, reaching into a discreet pocket and bringing forth a vial. Uncorking it, he swallowed it in one gulp, shaking his head 

Jaskier tilted his head. “What’s that?” 

Geralt didn’t answer, instead turning to the doorway the Imperial guards had entered from. They made their way in and then through another doorway, finding a slanted incline of stone floor awaiting them. They went down, and they paled at the sight. Blood splatters covered the floor, some dried, some looking fresh. There were large wooden cages set up, also drenched in blood. Jaskier felt he might be sick. 

Ralof muttered, “Troll’s blood, this is a torture room...” 

A blonde woman appeared from behind one of the cages and they braced themselves for a fight before realizing she bore no Imperial armor. A Stormcloak then?” 

Ralof asked her this and she nodded fiercely. “As if I’d ever tolerate being an Imperial toy.” 

Upon closer inspection of the middle cage, Jaskier’s eyes widened at the slumped form within. ”Over here! There’s someone in here! He pulled at the handle, but the lock kept it firmly in place. 

Ralof came up then. “See if you can find something to pick the lock with, we don’t have much time. 

All at once Geralt was beside them, picks in hand, kneeling in front of the cage an going to work, Jaskier blinked, surmising that he shouldn’t be surprised that a Witcher knew how to pick a lock. A moment later and the lock clicked. Geralt pushed open the door but shook his head at the slumped figure with a bag over his head. 

“He’s dead, there’s nothing to be done.” 

Jaskier felt a moment of pity for the named corpse, but they were already moving from the room the woman in tow. They made their way own stone hallways and came across a stone path leading downwards. 

As they headed down and the path leveled out, they heard voices drifting to them, “The orders are to wait until General Tullius arrives!” 

“I don’t care what the orders are, I’m not staying here only to be killed by a dragon!” They came into the room, drawing their weapons and making for the Imperial soldiers. Jaskier’s heart thumped loudly in his chest, hands shaking. One of them had a bow, and skier heard rather than saw the arrow whistle past his ear, nicking the tip. He yelped, ducking. 

Geralt and Ralof hacked their way through the guards, and Jaskier mourned his now most likely ruined doublet. There was an underground river which they crossed via stone bridge, and the cave walls shook with the force of the dragon’s roar, even all the way down here. 

They came across more soldiers, more with bows, and Jaskier watched in wide eyed wonder as Geralt deflected the arrows with his sword in midair. They made their way out of the cave after dealing with them into another stone hallway and came across a drawn up wooden bridge. Pulling the lever, it went down and they crossed it hesitantly. It led to some stone stairs and another cavernous stone room, a waterfall pouring into the river. 

A roar and loud booming crash was heard behind them. and the tunnel with the bridge they’d just been in collapsed. Jaskier did not see the woman with them, and he hopes he had avoided the collapse. 

No going back that way now. The rest of them will just have to find another way out” 

They made their way carefully down the stone steps and into the cavern, having to trek through a shallow but swift stream and into another set of stone tunnels. 

And if it wasn’t the cherry on top and they came upon a cavern filled with large, very much alive spiders. 

“Oh come on!” Jaskier exclaimed, his arachnophobia reaching a peak. This time Jaskier was not spared from fighting, and hacked his way through a spider, trying not to scream all the while. They came upon another stream and a tunnel filled with stone columns. 

Ralof stopped all of a sudden, crouching down and whispering “Hold up! There’s a bear just ahead. See her?” 

Jaskier nearly screamed in frustration, his entire body aching. ”Oh for the love of-” Geralt clapped a wide hand over his mouth, even as Jaskier struggled. 

Ralof continued. “I’d rather not tangle with her right now. Let’s try to sneak by. Just take it nice and slow and watch where you step.” 

Geralt moved forward slowly, silent as a wraith and keeping his hand clapped firmly over Jaskier’s mouth. They stepped slowly and quietly. They snuck past an abandoned wagon and turned slowly into the tunnel to the left of the bear that led to a misty tunnel. Successfully avoiding the bear, Geralt took his hand away and Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief while glaring at him. 

They saw a light ahead, and Jaskier nearly sung with relief. They left the Helgen and were met with the beautiful stormy sky. Jaskier nearly fell to his knees to kiss the ground, but his last shred of dignity stopped him at the last second. 

A distant roar was heard form overhead and they looked around wildly, only to spot the dragon lying away towards the east. Jaskier let out a sigh of relief flipping off the dragon as it disappeared. “Melitele’s tits, we’re alive!” He threw his arms around Geralt in joy, but Geralt quickly shoved him off muttering about. “clingy bards.” 

Ralof breathed a similar sigh of relief, “We’ve escaped, but by nightfall this area will be swarming with Imperial guards. Best we make haste and get out of here.” 

“My sister Gerdur runs the mill and inn in Riverwood just up the road. I’m sure she’d help you out on your way to wherever you need to go. It’s probably best that we split up. Good luck, I would not have made it without your help. Tell my sister this.” 

He waved and disappeared up the path. Before he was out of sight, he turned back. ”You know, you should go to Windhelmn and join the fight to free Skyrim. You’ve seen the true face of the Empire today.” 

Jaskier felt cold all of a sudden, shivering. _I saw the true face of the Empire long ago and have hated them ever since._

“If anyone will know what the coming of the dragon means, it’s Ulfric." 

They made their way down the worn stony path past trees and shrubs. As they hurried along, a thought occured to Jaskier. 

“Geralt?” 

“Hmm.” 

“Are we fugitives now?” 

No answer. 

Jaskier gulped audibly, turning away. “Lovely! Oh I’m sure this will do wonders for my reputation and all, seeing as I am a fugitive of the law, likely to be gutted by the Imperial Legion-” His voice rose a few octaves, cracking along the way, before Geralt cut him off. 

“Jaskier!” 

“What!? I’m kind of panicking here you know-” 

“Our names weren’t on the list.” 

Jaskier blinked, caught off guard. “What?” 

Geralt sighed, a deep and weary sound. “The list of prisoners to be executed. We weren’t on it.” And with that Geralt pushed on ahead. 

Jaskier stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, before letting out a sigh of relief and following after him. “Wait up, Geralt! Geralt!” 

They made it to Riverwood within the hour and Jaskier was relieved at the familiar sight. It seems news had not reached the peaceful town yet, and Jaskier was glad for it. He was hoping he could hurry out of town quickly and make his way to Whiterun to retrieve his belongings and get the hell out of there. 

First, some obtaining of supplies was in order. 


	9. catching the scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier you absolute flirt! Also Yennefer being Yennefer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not missed bisexual connections

It had been a  about a week  since Ye nnefer h ad spied on the B r otherhood, and she had been trying to get past their security en c hantments ever since. She wa s growing frustrated as her efforts remained fruitless .

Yennefer supposed she’d been co o ped up in this manor far too long and  was in need of a change of scenery. Her enchantment on the place and the owner would hold a while during her time gone, so she summoned a portal within the room after refreshing her makeup.

She thought about where she wanted to go before deciding for now to portal to another part of Whiterun. She could leave via the front door of course, but she didn’t want to raise any suspicions. Donned in black fur and a shimmering black dress, Yennefer portaled into an alleyway in the wealthy part of the city, and made her way to the market. 

The day was sunny and pleasant, and Yennefer flashed a brief smile to see it. She would stock up on some needed ingredients and may haps shop for a few new dresses. There was a tailor she quite liked in this city who dressed the noble men and women of Whiterun. Making her way there, when she arrived she stepped in and was greeted by the familiar and pleasant smell of cinnamon that always wafted through the place. It was an enchantment she had set up for the shop owner, Lumier, free of charge for tailoring her such fine clothes.

“Ah , Lady Yennefer, wonderful to see you again!”

They exchanged pleasantries, but soon enough he went to work. Yennefer did not mind undressing to her shift in the presence of  Lumier in the privacy of one of the dressing rooms. After all, his taste s did not lean towards the fairer sex, after all.

He laid out some fabrics and patterns for her, which she perused with secret delight. There was still a part of her that delighted at the sight of fine things and pretty dresses to wear. Considering the finer weather, Yennefer considered some of the more risqué designs he had laid out. Dresses that had no backs, or dresses that dipped down to show an ample amount of cleavage, dresses with parts cut out on the sides, and pretty corsets to go with them all.

Yennefer decided on some fabrics of deep black and purple with silver em b roidery, as well as fabric of a deep burgundy red. Looking  further she chose a deep black fabric  with a  green reflect, matching the eye makeup she wore today. W h en they wer e finished,  Yennefer thanked him with an ample amount of coin for his troubl e  and was on her way wit h  the promise of the dresses and corsets in a week and a half’s time.

As she swept her way out of the shop, she brushed shoulders with a man in sky blue, and caught a faint whiff of the scent of wildflowers. It was quite  nice , and Yennefer turned before leaving.

“You, sir-may I ask what scent you are wearing? It’s quite pleasant.”

The man turned, smile bright and blinding.  His blue eyes were a shade of cornflower blue, and Yennefer found the color easy on the eyes.  “Ah of course, dear lady, it’s a perfume I obtain at  Gwenevere's shop in the perfume district-let me just say that the scent you wear is also  very pleasant! Lilac, is it?”

She smiled, charmed. “Why thank you, it is a custom blend of my design. Lilac and gooseberries.”

He gave a quick bow, flashing her a winning smile. “Why thank you dear lady, I must be away, but I hope to run into you again.”

Yennefer smirked in  a way she knew made the knees of both men and ladies weak, and judging by the look on the man’s face, it was working. “I hope so too, sir. Good day to you...” With that she swept out of the shop and decided to look for lunch.

Despite her fine tastes, Yennefer di d enjoy street food , h er favorite being a fried batter concoction drizzled in honey and powdered sugar. She ate it off the stick , licking powdered sugar and honeyed crumbs from her lips.

She walked around for a while more, perusing jewelry and other finery, before heading back to the alleyway she had  portalled in from, and  portalled back to the manor. Sighing, she sat down at her mirror, and went to work.

\------

A week later, and Yennefer was still in Whiterun. She was in the market again, perusing a stall that sold lipsticks and lipstains, and a collection of color-shifting eyeshadow pots. Yennefer had just picked out a deep purple lipstain and black eyeshadow with a sky blue reflect, handing over the coin, when a commotion broke out in the marketplace.

Turning, Yennefer scanned the ensuing chaos with mild interest. It looked as if a scuffle had broken out between some Imperial soldiers and possible Stormcloak rebels, or just some pissed townspeople. Yennefer took a bite out of an apple she had, munching as the fight escalated to a marketplace wide brawl. She easily pushed aside tumbling and fighting townspeople with her magic, walking through the mess gracefully. Her eyes caught on a familiar man, the man from the shop a week ago, and a flash of white hair near him. Quirking her eyebrow, she paused for but a moment, before continuing on her way.

Best to make it back to the manor before any more Imperial soldiers showed up.

\------

It wasn’t until about a week later that Yennefer had any success with her scrying. Except this time, it wasn’t the Brotherhood that the mirror showed her. Instead, in an exasperated huff, she’d yelled at the mirror “Oh bloody hell, is anyone talking about the Dragonborn? Dragons? Anything, you useless piece of junk!?”

Sighing in frustration, she went to get up, but something started materializing in the mirror before her. Pausing, she stared into it, squinting.

_ Why is it showing me  _ _ River _ _ w _ _ ood _ _? _

The town ,  about three days from  Whiterun , is not what she expected her mirror to show her.

In the mirror , she saw two figured materializing, standing out a ramshackle inn that had obviously seen better days. A woman in peasant’s clothing stood before him, chatting while looking urgently around them as if afraid of discovery. With a start she recognized the young man from the shop and the market, his outfit now a ruin of tears and dirt. A pity-i t looked to have been a nice outfit.  Near him was a plain looking man with blonde hair, a standard Nord she surmised. 

She squinted at the figure next to him, a large and broad man with white hair. She could not see his face very well, but they made an odd pair. The woman ushered them inside, and the mirror faded back to her reflection.

Blinking, puzzled, Yennefer wondered if the mirror was broken or malfunctioning from constant use or interference. She ran a few checks on it, but it looked to be in fine working order, despite being several hundred years older than she was.

A thought struck her then.  _ Was it possible, that the man with white hair...is the fabled Dragonborn? _ _ He has appeared so soon? _

He certainly looked the part, she surmised. He looked like a warrior, which didn’t complicate Yennefer’s plans too much-but the stronger the will, the harder it was to bend.

But Yennefer always got what she wanted, in the end. Smirking, she got up, and began to formulate a plan.


	10. run boy run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys get to an inn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> general jaskier and geralt interaction

Jaskier and Geralt arrived in Riverwood, and quickly realized that news may have spread faster than they thought. 

Off to the side, Jaskier heard a conversation between a young man and an older woman. 

She was gesturing with her hands wildly, voice excited, “Dragon, I saw a dragon!” 

The young man near her sighed, as if his mother’s dramatics and fanciful tales were a common enough occurrence. “What is it now, mother?” 

She huffed at him but continued on unperturbed, “It was as big as the mountain, and black as night! It flew right over the barrow!” 

A sigh. “Dragons now, is it? Please mother, if you keep on like this everyone in town will think you’re crazy...and I’ve got better things to do than listen to more of your fantasies.” 

“You’ll see, it was a dragon! It’ll kill us all and then you’ll believe me!” 

Jaskier chuckled at how little sense that made, hurrying after Ralof as he made his way further into the town. 

They were soon met by the innkeeper and mill owner Gerdur, whom Ralof had mentioned was his sister. 

She embraced her brother Ralof, fussing and checking for injuries. 

“Brother! Mara’s mercy, it’s good to see you!” 

“But is it safe for you to be here? We heard that Ulfric had been captured...” 

“Gerdur, I’m fine. At least now I am.” 

“Are you hurt? What’s happened? And who are they, two of your comrades?” 

“Not comrades yet, but friends. I owe them my life, in fact. Is there somewhere we can talk? There’s no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials...” 

“Helgen!? Has something happened? You’re right, follow me...” She motioned to them, leading to them what Jaskier guessed was her inn. She opened the door, beckoning them quickly inside. 

It was a small but neat and clean place, with a bar and a small tavern. There weren’t many patrons at this time of day, and they were glad of that. Ralof began to speak to his sister in hushed tones along with another man. Ralof’s voice was laced with worry. 

“We were ambushed, as if they knew exactly where we’d be...almost died, we did.” 

His sister hissed. “The cowards!” 

Ralof continued, voice angry. “They wouldn’t dare give Ulfric a fair trial. Treason, for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would have seen the truth then!” 

Jaskier cast his eyes aside then, wondering at all the atrocities the Empire and Imperial Legion had gotten away with, how many would never see justice for the crimes committed against them, how many would never open their eyes again. 

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he honed back in on the conversation, Geralt still quiet by his side. 

“But then, out of nowhere, right as Jaskier’s head lay on the chopping block...a dragon attacked!” 

Jaskier gulped then, rubbing his neck. 

His sister paled. “You don’t mean a real, live dragon do you?” 

Ralof nodded. “I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there. As strange as it sounds, we’d be dead if not for that dragon. In the confusion, we managed to slip away. Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood?” 

Gerdur shook her head, her expression pensive. “Nobody has come up the south road today, as far as I know.” 

“Good. Maybe we can lay up for a while. I hate to put your family in danger, Gerdur, but...” _I have nowhere else to go,_ went unspoken in the air. 

Gerdur smiled, shaking her head. “Nonsense. You and your...” She eyed them, eyes lingering on Geralt hesitantly, but she seemed to decide something, “...friends are welcome to stay here as long as you need to. It’s the least I can do.” She smirked. 

“Let me worry about the Imperials.” She winked, “You lot are hardly the only refugees I’ve sheltered from the Imperial Legion, after all. And any friend of Ralof’s is a friend of mine.” 

Jaskier went to say that they weren’t refugees, not at all, but a look from Geralt quickly shut him up. 

She held up a key to them, old and rusted. “Here is a key to a room in the inn, last one left. It’s up the stairs, the third one on the right. It’s small, and only has one bed-I apologize for the inconvenience Stay as long as you’d like, free of charge my friends. If there is anything else you need, just let me or one of the barmaids know. I’ll have food sent up to the room, and well not to be rude sirs, but two baths as well.” 

Geralt looked like he was about to protest, but a look from Jaskier actually kept him quiet. Jaskier glared at him, hoping to convey with his eyes “if you dare ruin my chance for a bath I will end you somehow.” 

Jaskier accepted the key, thanking Gerdur and saying goodbye to Ralof, and making his way to the stairs. With a “hmm” Geralt followed, and Jaskier unlocked the door upon reaching the room. It was indeed on the small side, with only one bed, but it was clean and tidy with a small table and two chairs. 

Jaskier sat down with a wearied sigh, scrubbing at his stubble with his hands. Geralt in turn set his swords down against the wall with a sigh, sitting down across from him. 

Jaskier groaned, leaning back. “As much as I’d love to enjoy the hospitality here, I have to gather some necessary supplies and make my way back to Whiterun, at least to obtain my things. Gods I hope they are still there...what a mess...” 

Geralt hmmed. “I have to go back and get Roach back, at the least. My supplies are at an inn there as well.” 

Jaskier cocked an eyebrow. “Roach? Who is Roach?” 

“My horse.” 

Jaskier blinked. “Huh. What a name. Geralt and Roach, Roach and Geralt...” 

He trailed off, thinking. “Well I need a short nap, and fugitive status or not be damned, I’m getting some supplies with the few coins in my pockets and heading back to Whiterun. You’re free to join me Geralt, we can be traveling companions!” 

“No.” 

Jaskier pouted, getting up to sit down on the bed. “No? And why ever not?” 

Geralt looked at him levelly. “Because you’d talk my ears off within an hour of being in proximity to each other.” 

Jaskier spluttered. “No I wouldn’t! How rude! Fine then, have it your way. Wake me when the food comes up, you...you scoundrel!” With that Jaskier took off his shoes and doublet,and lay down and shut his weary eyes. 

_Talk his ears off indeed, the_ _bastard_ _..._ but he was soon asleep and snoring loudly, much to Geralt’s annoyance, and the maid who brought up the food’s amusement. 


End file.
